


Protector

by DivineProjectZero



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Squip, Chloe Valentine/OFC, Comedy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/pseuds/DivineProjectZero
Summary: With Michael, he feels safe.(wherein Jeremy Heere is scared of girls and Michael Mell is his last line of defense.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-betaed. All mistakes are mine. Constructive feedback is always welcome. 
> 
> Tags will be added as chapters are updated. Rating will go up in future chapters. 
> 
> This was initially intended to be a short, lighthearted comedy featuring Jeremy Heere being scared of high school girls. Unfortunately for me, this turned into a long, plotty clusterfuck. But Jeremy is still scared of high school girls, so there's that. Squip-shenanigans never happened in this AU. I don't know what American high school kids are like. Porn is going to happen at some point.

> _People protect what they love_.
> 
> -Jacques Yves Cousteau

“So,” Jenna says at lunch, “what’s up with you and Ashley Parker?” 

Everybody is abuzz with energy for the first week back from spring break except the seniors, who know what kind of hell awaits them. Brooke and Christine are in the lunch line, and the other members of the group haven’t shown yet, so it’s just Jeremy and Jenna at the table so far. Jeremy supposes he should be grateful that Jenna chose to broach this topic while nobody else is paying attention to them. “Oh my god,” he whinges. “Nothing. _Nothing_. She just…wanted to see if I’d be interested in hanging out sometime.”

“Mmmhm.” The corner of Jenna’s mouth ticks up in a way that bodes terribly for Jeremy’s blood pressure. “So you didn’t actually have sex with her in the janitor’s closet?”

“No, I locked _myself_ into the janitor’s closet because she tried to have sex with me," Jeremy hisses. "Who does that?” 

“I don’t know, not a lot of guys would lock themselves in a closet to get away from a hot girl—”

“I meant who tries to have sex with a guy they hardly know at _school_ , in the _morning_ , while entirely _sober_? I’ve only talked to her like, twice!” Jeremy has been in high school for nearly three years and high school is still bizarre to him.

Jenna pats his hand. “It’s because you’re cute. You have a distinct vibe. Like a hamster.”

“Like a what, now.”

“Like a prey animal,” she clarifies. “Totally easy kill for a girl who knows what she wants.” She pauses. “Or a boy.”

“Oh my god,” Jeremy wheezes.

“Michael was worried during physics class. He probably thought she’d eaten you up during sex like some grotesque praying mantis deal.” Jenna takes a bite of her corndog. “You should reassure him that your chastity and head are still intact.”

Jeremy flops over the lunch table and groans. “I can’t believe a girl tried to take advantage of me at school.”

“Didn't Chloe try the same thing to you before?" 

"She was drunk," Jeremy says into the table, flapping a hand to emphasize how different the experience was. "And she was still in the closet." Nothing had happened back then, except Chloe bursting into tears and drunkenly going on and on about how she didn't even like boys. She'd apologized and demanded his immediate amnesia of the night's events as soon as she'd sobered up. "And it wasn't at _school_." 

Jenna pats his head this time. "You're really hung up on that part, aren't you." 

"I have English class with her next period," Jeremy laments. "I don't wanna go. She wouldn't try anything in class, would she?" 

"I dunno, you're easy prey," Jenna says.

"Stop saying that," Jeremy whines, lifting his head to pout at her. He's not edible, for fuck's sake. "I'm not a hamster."

"Wanna bet? Hey guys," Jenna addresses Brooke and Christine as they sit down with their lunch trays. "Would you say Jeremy's a herbivore or a carnivore?"

"What?" Christine asks, confused.

Brooke, on the other hand, doesn't miss a beat. "Herbivore."

"Brooke!" Jeremy feels betrayed here. "Why would you say that? I thought we were friends."

Suddenly, Michael is right there, one hand settling on Jeremy's shoulder as he drops into the adjacent seat. Behind him, Jeremy can see Rich and Jake walking up to the table. "What did I miss?" Michael asks.

"We were talking about whether Jeremy qualifies as a prey animal," Jenna explains. "Did you just sprint from the cafeteria entrance?"

"He heard Jeremy’s distress call," Rich says, dropping his tray onto the table and taking a seat. "Had to go rescue his dude in distress. Didn't even finish talking to us."

"Bros are important," Jake supplies cheerfully.

Michael gives them both an unimpressed look before responding to Jenna. "A prey animal?"

"You know, given how he was almost devoured alive by Ashley Parker just today--"

"Wait, I didn't know about this," Christine says, seconded by Rich. Jeremy feels Michael stiffen, so he elbows his best friend’s side in reassurance while he tries to explain no, he was not a prey animal, he was not some lanky hamster being snatched off to be eaten by a female bald eagle, no matter how much Ashley Parker's nails had felt like sharp talons on his arms that morning. 

"So a hot girl threw herself at you and you threw yourself outta the way?" Rich cackles once the explanation ends. "Dude, you're like those Victorian knights. Chivalrous as fuck."

"The Victorian era didn't have knights. You're thinking about the medieval ones," Christine points out.

Rich shrugs. "Eh, same thing. Scandalous ankles and shit, right?" 

"If you're saying Jeremy has the sensibilities of a Victorian lady..." Michael pauses. Then grins. "You're absolutely right."

"Not you too," Jeremy groans.

"No, he's right," Chloe says, having sat down during Michael's dramatic pause. "You almost fainted from seeing my bra strap. I can't believe I tried to sleep with you. You would have passed out if I took my shirt off."

"It's okay," Brooke coos and leans over to pat Jeremy's cheek. "You were the only boy I dated who didn't try to grope me. I think it's sweet."

Jeremy splutters like a dying car engine. 

"I like herbivores," Christine assures him, like that helps at all. "They're the backbone of the ecosystem!"

"They are?" Jeremy asks weakly.

Jenna points her fork at him in triumph. "The exes have spoken. You're officially on the prey list in the high school food chain."

"You know, that used to mean I might get bullied, not sexually threatened," Jeremy says, defeated. He gives up. High school is the worst. “But, like, it probably won't happen again, right?"

"Only you would find hot girls trying to seduce you sexually threatening," Rich marvels.

"Girls are scary," Jeremy says, and he's not even ashamed of saying that out loud. He's sitting with some of the scariest girls he knows. "And dude, unwanted sexual advances are scary regardless of gender."

Rich points a finger gun at him. ”You have a point."

"Anyway, it probably won't happen again," Jeremy repeats with a conviction he doesn't feel. His survival instincts nag at him, so he turns to Chloe. "Please sit with me in English class?"

She smirks at him. "Oh yeah, I'll protect you from the big bad Ashley Parker. Don't worry, Heere."

-

It happens again.

Not in English class, mind, but after school, when Jeremy's let his guard down and walking down the hall to find Michael and go home. Somebody grabs him by the back of his cardigan and pulls him into the girls' locker room. For a moment, Jeremy thinks he's going to be beat up, but then he half-turns and looks down to see the tiny, terrifying Gina Sanchez smiling at him like she's a lioness ready for lunch and Jeremy's a tasty gazelle.

Goddammit, the prey and predator metaphors have invaded Jeremy's brain. 

"Hello Jeremy," Gina purrs at him, rolling the r sound in his name like a cat purring before it pounces. "How's it going?"

"Um, good, I guess?" Jeremy tries to subtly edge away from her, but her hand still has an iron grip on his cardigan, and he fears that she'll actually rip it off of him if he makes a sudden movement. Gina isn't as pretty as Ashley Parker, but she has a charisma and force of personality that can rival Chloe's, with eyeliner sharp enough to cut Jeremy to shreds. "I was just, uh, going home."

"Aw," Gina says, the hand not gripping his cardigan patting his hip, and Jeremy almost squeaks. "You in a hurry?"

"N-no," Jeremy stammers, then mentally flings himself off the school rooftop because _why_ is he incapable of lying under pressure? "I mean, Michael's probably waiting for me in the parking lot. So, um."

Gina smiles even wider, with just a hint of teeth. Jeremy is starting to seriously consider just feigning a heart attack. "I think he can wait just a bit more.” Her hand inches down, dangerously close to groping his ass. “Don’t you think so?”

He’s just about to test his acting skills to the extreme when he's saved by the door slamming open.

"Jeremy, there you are!" Brooke chirps, sugary sweet, not even sparing Gina a glance. She curls both arms around one of Jeremy's and continues talking like she hasn't just walked in on the great prelude to Jeremy being ravished by a five-foot girl. "Michael asked me to fetch you because you were taking forever, and he promised me a Pinkberry stopover, so you need to hurry."

"Brooke," Gina says, smiling with all her teeth and a glare so intense Jeremy wants to hide. "We're kinda in the middle of something."

"Too bad," Brooke says, still smiling brightly. "I think whatever that something was, it ended."

Here's the thing about Brooke: she's meek and soft-spoken and always deferential to Chloe, but that's because she loves her best friend to bits and doesn't mind being second to her.Chloe could boss Brooke around from Florida to Alaska and it’d only be possible because Brooke would allow it. Brooke is no doormat. People are so used to seeing her bend to Chloe's whims that they forget Brooke is on top of the social ladder too, and that she can enforce the laws of high school hierarchy when she sees fit to do so.

So Brooke stares Gina down with a sunny smile that just screams _I will murder your entire social life if I need to, don't test me_ , and Gina, who's attractive but has little influence in the grand scheme that is Middle Borough High, folds like wet paper and releases Jeremy's cardigan. Then she pushes past them and stomps out the door.

"I think I owe you a life debt," Jeremy says.

"You can buy me my fro-yo,” Brooke assures him, leaving one arm hooked around his as she starts leading him outside. She's texting on her phone with her free hand, presumably to alert Michael that Jeremy has been safely taken into her custody. "And thank Michael. He's the one who asked me to help look for you.” 

"You were really badass, by the way," Jeremy says. Brooke smiles at him, not in a terrifying way, but in a soft, fond way that emphasizes her dimples. 

"And you're adorable," she tells him. "Be careful, all the other girls have noticed."

"Oh boy," Jeremy says, shoulders slumping. He hopes today was just a freak accident, and that he'll go back to being the unremarkable kid with some remarkable friends. He's not sure his nerves can handle any more of the prey life.

-

Jeremy's not _completely_ inexperienced with girls. He dated Brooke for a couple weeks last semester, which had involved a few kisses and them mutually agreeing they just weren't going to work out, and there'd been the incident with Chloe at Jake's party, which had mostly ended at a kiss that they both hadn't enjoyed at all. He'd dated Christine for a month or so over the past winter before they realized that the chemistry between them was strictly friendly.

So Jeremy's not entirely girl-innocent, and he actually watches porn on a regular basis, thank you very much. Yes, he would like to eventually graduate from being a virgin, but it’s not like he’s going to jump into bed with the first person that offers. The Chloe incident cemented how much Jeremy doesn't want to do the whole one night stand thing, and since breaking up with Christine he's not in a hurry to date anybody new. He's okay with waiting and jerking off alone for the time being. 

The fact that he’s kinda terrified of the girls in his high school is really just an unfortunate bonus.

“That’s my girl,” Chloe crows when he relates yesterday’s events to her during their morning study hall period. They’re sitting in Mr. Reyes’s classroom because he lets them use it when he doesn’t have class, and the classroom tends to be empty most of the time. As for now, it’s just Jeremy and Chloe, having come here as soon as they popped by the study hall classroom to sign the attendance sheet. Rich and Jake are in their study hall block as well, but they haven’t shown up yet. They’re probably making out. 100% consensually. It’s tragic that Jeremy’s more jealous about the consensual part than the making out part. “I wish I could’ve been there to see it. Fucking Gina Sanchez, as if she stands a chance against Brooke.”

“I don’t get why this is happening to me,” Jeremy says. He’d given Ashley a wide berth this morning, and he’d nearly been accosted by Gina again before Jenna had magically inserted herself beside Jeremy, escorting him to study hall. He’s pretty sure Madeline Garcia winked at him on the way there, too. 

“You’re cute, I guess,” Chloe says, like Jeremy being cute is a concept she knows about but doesn’t quite believe in. To be fair, Jeremy doesn’t believe in that concept either. “I don’t know if you’re fuckable, but. If you were a girl.” She squints at him for a long moment. “Maybe if you were a girl,” she finally confirms with a nod.

“Gee thanks, Chloe. I’ve always wanted to be theoretically fuckable as a girl,” Jeremy deadpans.

“Lighten up,” Chloe says, kicking his shin gently. “So you’re the hot news in school for now. It’ll die down. And until it does, we’ll make sure you’re not wandering the halls alone like a lamb to the slaughter.”

Jeremy heaves a sigh, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “It’s just—I feel bad for complaining about this? Because haha, oh poor me, I can’t handle girls trying to hit on me, what a loser. But I hate this, too. It’s like this big cosmic joke that everybody’s in on and I’m the punchline.” He rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know why this is bothering me so much, this is stupid, I’m sorry.”

On the way to study hall, he’d asked Jenna if there was some girls locker room dare going on to humiliate him, and she’d promised to snoop around in case his sudden popularity boost had any nefarious ulterior motives. He knows he’s being paranoid, but he can’t help himself.

Chloe clears her throat, prompting Jeremy to look at her properly. 

“Look, you're a virgin who thinks girls are intimidating," she says without a trace of malice, like every word isn't a critical hit to Jeremy's practically non-existent ego. “And now they’re aggressively trying to get in your pants without even buying you dinner first. Of fucking course you’re uncomfortable about it. You have every right to be. And as somebody who’s spent a lifetime being objectified, let me tell you, this shit can wear you down. So don’t think you gotta work through this alone.” She kicks his shin with her toe again, a friendly impact. “We’re here for you.”

She says it all in a brusque manner, because Chloe likes to think she’s allergic to mushy feelings, but the sentiment comes through anyway. The way she spells it out for him easy and clear does the trick, draining most of the tension from Jeremy, allowing him to muster a weak smile and nudge her foot back in gratitude. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” They sit in silence for a minute before Chloe checks her watch. “Ten bucks on the lovebirds not showing up at all.”

Jeremy looks at the clock. There’s still at least twenty-five more minutes before the period ends. And Jake rarely plays hooky, even for study hall. “You’re on.”

-

Jeremy loses that bet.

“I hate you,” he tells Jake sullenly as they sit next to each other for biology class. “I can’t believe you spent the entire period making out with Rich.”

Jake just laughs, the smug bastard. “Rich is really good at making me forget what time it is,” he says, and it’s not even like he’s aiming for innuendo or anything; he just says it like he’s proud of his boyfriend being able to kiss his brains out. Jeremy’s almost jealous of the casual way Jake wholeheartedly loves Rich. “We didn’t mean to actually skip the whole period.”

“Not like you really missed out on anything,” Jeremy says. He’d ended up taking turns with Chloe playing Crossy Road on her phone. She was still miffed that he’d beaten her high score. That soothed the sting of losing ten dollars a bit. 

They stay quiet for a moment as Mrs. Schwartz drones on about the human digestive system, Jeremy doodling in a corner of his notebook, Jake jotting down the occasional note. It’s nice, normal, and everything is fine until Jeremy’s eyes slide to the left and meet Veronica Lee’s from across the room.He averts his gaze, half because he looks away from all accidental eye contact automatically and half because Veronica is intimidating as fuck. He’s never talked to her before, but there’s something unsettling about her, the way her bangs almost cover her eyes most of the time, the quiet air about her that forbids most people from ever sharing her space. Mostly, it’s the fact that Jeremy’s never seen her smile. 

He waits a solid ten seconds before he chances glancing in that direction again and what the fuck, she’s still staring at him. Intensely. Like she’s a part-time serial killer out to shop for potential victims and she thinks Jeremy would make excellent murder material. 

“Is it just me,” Jeremy hisses through his teeth to Jake, “or is Veronica Lee about to kill me?”

“Hm?” Jake hums, then whispers, “Oh wow. What did you do?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jeremy mumbles, resolutely keeping his eyes focused on his textbook now. The visuals on his textbook inform him what his intestines would look like spilling from his guts if Veronica Lee were to disembowel him. 

He wishes Michael were here to distract him from the possibility of being serial murdered, because Michael always knows how to derail Jeremy’s anxiety and deconstruct the tower of panic Jeremy ends up building in his mind. Michael would protect Jeremy, whether it be from a serial killer or a very intimidating high school girl. It’s the way they’ve always worked. The two of them against the world (or, well, high school).

Except, there’s more than the two of them now, which is pretty nice, and they have only one class together, which sucks. Michael had looked at Jeremy’s crushed face after they got their respective class schedules and squeezed Jeremy’s hand, had said _we should learn to be a little less dependent on each other anyway_. He’d said it with forced levity, as if this was the natural thing, the inevitable thing: the independence and growing up and growing apart. And as much as Jeremy had accepted that, there was still an inner part of him that balked at it. That wanted Michael to _stay_.

Then yesterday, amidst the terror of being cornered in locker rooms and janitor closets, there had been Michael, furious on Jeremy’s behalf, worry in his eyes as he’d patted Jeremy down for any possible damage left by Gina. During the entire drive to Pinkberry, Michael had started talking out a game plan on how to make sure Jeremy was accompanied by a friend at all times at school until the insanity had died down. Brooke had contributed to the strategy-making, and both of them had dismissed Jeremy’s concerns of such a plan being overkill. And listening to them both heatedly discuss how to best chaperone Jeremy during the school day, Jeremy’d found himself pathetically touched by Michael’s overprotectiveness. Had even been pleased by it. 

And now Jeremy wishes Michael were by his side, keeping him safe. And maybe keeping him sane, too.

-

“So it turns out, this might actually be our fault,” Jenna says at lunch.

They’re all crowded around their usual table, no space for any rogue girls to attempt squeezing into, and Jeremy is safely deposited between Michael and Christine, who’d both had to kidnap Jeremy from an incredibly persistent sophomore girl because Jeremy had walked alone to his locker after fourth period, not expecting to be ambushed right then and there.

Jeremy takes back what he said about a full-time chaperone system being overkill. He will take every bit of chaperoning his friends can offer. 

A _sophomore_ girl. What is the world coming to.

“Explain,” Chloe demands.

“So, remember when we had the water balloon fight in Jake’s backyard during spring break?” Jenna asks. Everybody at the table nods. “Remember that I posted pics from that on Instagram?” Everybody nods again. Jenna posts _everything_ on Instagram. “Remember I posted _this_?”

What Jenna holds up on her phone is a candid photo of Jeremy, with his hair dripping wet and a shy smile aimed somewhere off-camera, shirtless.

“I remember that,” Jake says. Jeremy puts his face in his hands and stifles a scream, because he’d okayed that photo because he doesn’t do social media and had figured he’d never have to see it online. Michael makes a choked noise from beside him.

“If you look closely,” Jenna says dryly, “you can see that Jeremy Heere has some kickass pecs, which he acquired from becoming workout bros with Rich Goranski.”

Rich whistles. “Daaamn, you look good, bro! I told you it’d pay off!”

“Paid off too well, apparently,” Michael says in a strangled voice. 

Jenna continues. “Then there are the little things, such as Jeremy’s reputation jumping since he dated Brooke, and Jake no longer being on the market. Also, it didn’t help that Christine tells anybody who asks just how great her ex-boyfriend is.” Everybody turns to look at Christine.

“But it’s true!” Christine says. Jake pets her head.

“You did nothing wrong,” Jenna assures her. “But it pretty much solidified Jeremy as the best available boy in our grade right now.”

Jeremy tries to figure out where everything went wrong. “But how does that translate into girls actually, I don’t know, trying to actively maul me?”

“Well,” Jenna says, “that’s partly because your prey vibes are too strong. The other part is that what Chloe did at the Halloween party last semester has belatedly started a terrible trend.”

“Fuck,” Chloe says. Jeremy bleakly echoes the sentiment.

“So in short, we’ve collectively turned you into prime girl-bait,” Jenna concludes.

“You found all of this out just this morning?” Rich asks, stealing fries off of Jake’s tray. “You were in class with me for half the day. How do you do that?”

“I have my sources,” Jenna says.

“You’d make a great CIA agent,” Rich tells her.

She snorts. “The CIA couldn’t afford me.”

“So,” Michael finally says while the rest of the group digests the info dump, “there’s no way to like, fix this?”

“I mean, unless we somehow make Jeremy unattractive overnight, we can’t really do much,” Jenna says. “Some girls really dig the vulnerable pretty boy aesthetic.”

“Oh my god,” Jeremy says. 

Brooke offers him a breadstick with a sympathetic look. Christine pats his back. Neither of them deny what Jenna just said.

“We could try finding somebody else for the girls to fixate on, but unless Jake becomes single again…” Jenna says, trailing off and looking at Jake, who firmly winds both arms around Rich and rests his chin on Rich’s head, a forbidding expression on his usually cheery face. “Yeah, I thought so. And we don't have any other likely candidates for school heartthrob, so it looks like we’re stuck with the buddy system until everything goes back to normal.”

“High school is never normal,” Chloe says. She makes a vaguely apologetic face at Jeremy, presumably for her role in contributing to the insanity that has become his life. “Learn some self-defense, pretty boy.”

“Oh my god,” Jeremy repeats. At this rate, those three words are soon going to be the only vocabulary he’s capable of. Like _I am Groot_ , except infinitely more pathetic. He slumps sideways into Michael, burying his face in his shoulder. “Michael, save me.”

He feels Michael's hand on his, squeezing his fingers under the lunch table. “I wish I could, Jer,” Michael says in a low voice into Jeremy’s hair, like he’d fight Jeremy’s battles for him if only it were possible. Like it hurts to be unable to do so.

-

The rest of the day passes more or less without incident, which helps Jeremy calm down a little. Sure, Madeline comes batting her eyelashes at him before sixth period and Gina makes yet another attempt to grab him when the last school bell rings, but Jake throws an arm over Jeremy’s shoulders and wards Madeline off with a megawatt smile and Christine bodily drags Jeremy off to musical rehearsal before Gina can claw at him. 

There’s a hiccup during rehearsal when Tiffany, one of the cast members, just sashays up to where Jeremy is sitting in the back of the auditorium for a break and _sits on his lap_.

“Um,” Jeremy squeaks, frozen and completely taken aback. Tiffany is tall, dark-skinned, and a varsity volleyball player, which is why she participates in extra-curricular theatre only during the off-season. She could break Jeremy with one hand. Which is kinda hot, but the fear outweighs the arousal in this case. 

“Your singing is very good,” Tiffany says, casual as a panther lounging in a jungle. “And your dancing is getting better.”

“Er, thank you?” Jeremy internally screams at himself for being the most spineless moron on this side of the hemisphere. It’s like he’s a mouse trying to be polite to the cat about to eat it alive. 

“I’ve been having trouble with the ballroom scene,” Tiffany says, leaning closer, and Jeremy hopes that somebody sets the school on fire right now. Or a comet comes crashing into the auditorium. Even a zombie apocalypse would be welcome as long as it happened right here and right _now_. “So I wondered if you might want to help me with it?” She smiles, predatory. “Just the two of us?”

“Uh,” Jeremy says, and is saved from having to figure out what to say next by Michael’s voice ringing out through the room.

“Hey Jeremy, costume crew wants you for a fitting right now!”

Jeremy practically melts with relief. “Right, yeah, um. I gotta go,” he says, waiting for Tiffany to reluctantly stand up before he bolts. 

He joins Michael out in the hall, throwing his arms around Michael and clinging onto him for dear life. “Oh my god, that was so scary,” he exhales, sagging in Michael’s arms. “You are my savior. You win the best friend Nobel prize. Don’t ever let me be alone with a girl ever again.”

“You’re burdened with the curse of being too attractive,” Michael says. “Sophomore-you would never believe this.”

“Junior-me doesn’t believe this,” Jeremy argues into the fabric of Michael’s hoodie. “I’m not even that good looking. I’m average at most. Why do girls say I’m cute? I’m not cute. I’m pale enough to reflect sunlight and look like a human flashbulb in photos. And now I have like one photo that maybe looks nice through the power of filtering and photoshop, and girls are suddenly caught in this misconception that I’m—”

“Woah, woah, slow down, buddy.” Michael gently pushes him back by the shoulders so they can be face to face. “You _are_ good looking. You could break hearts with those blue eyes of yours, my friend.” Michael pauses, reassesses his words, then smacks his face with one hand. “I mean, you’re attractive. Very. And you’re pale, so what. I like it.” Another pause. “ _Girls_ like it. Brings all of them to the yard and all that. Jesus christ, you have pecs. That makes you automatically twice as hotter than you usually are. And you have nice hair, um, and your eyes are nice. Pretty. Ugh, you get what I mean. Please tell me you get what I mean.” 

Michael’s rambling calms Jeremy’s nerves. “Okay, I get it. I’m not hideous.”

“Argh,” Michael says, scowling. Then he takes Jeremy’s face with both hands and says, “Jeremiah Heere, you listen to me. You are attractive. And you are a good person. You deserve to be loved by everybody out there, but you deserve better than girls trying to bully their way into your pants. You hearing me on this?” A thumb strokes Jeremy’s cheekbone, sparking warmth through him. Brown eyes look into his pleadingly. “Jer, you’re worth all of them and more. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jeremy says weakly. Everything feels weak inside of him right now. Knees, throat, chest. Vulnerable, just like when he’s cornered by aggressive girls with sharp nails and feline smiles. But here, he’s not scared. Not with Michael. With Michael, he feels safe. 

“Okay,” Michael parrots back. Fleetingly, Jeremy thinks Michael’s gaze flicks a little downwards, but then Michael releases him and laughs a little too loud. “Alrighty, then. I wasn’t kidding about the costume fitting. Let’s go see you suited up!”

“Yeah,” Jeremy breathes, pulse thrumming in his ears, blood a little too hot under his skin. He tries not to stumble as he walks his way to the costume studio, wondering why his heart is beating so fast.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day is utter chaos. It starts with Ashley Parker cornering him again before first period, which is thankfully cut short by Chloe hauling Ashley off of Jeremy with a graphic, detailed threat that has Jeremy’s balls quivering in vicarious fear. Then Hannah Brown, a mousy, unassuming girl that Jeremy would never have pegged as the aggressive type in a million years, fucking _hunts down Jeremy in the boys bathroom,_ _what the fuck_. Jeremy is saved from almost getting deflowered in a school bathroom stall by Rich careening into the place and kicking up such a fuss that Hannah has to flee before teachers come to investigate. 

“No bathroom breaks unless you have a partner now,” Rich says. 

“Just like in prison,” Jeremy says, demoralized.

Jeremy spends biology class feeling his face burn off from Veronica Lee’s relentless staring, and has very nearly exhausted all reserves of sanity when somebody approaches his locker at the beginning of lunch.

“Hello,” she says, and Jeremy vaguely recognizes her red hair and cold smile. She’s a senior, someone Jeremy’s never spoken to her before. “You’re Jeremy, right?”

“Yes,” Jeremy says, gripping his locker door nervously.

“Emma, right?” Jake says with an easy smile, taking a step forward so that he can easily come between her and Jeremy if he needs to. “I’m Jake.”

“I know,” Emma says, and her smile isn’t that of a tigress or a wolf, but a snake. Cold and sharp. “I was wondering if we could talk,” she says, directing her words to Jeremy, then making her intent clear by eyeing Jake. “Alone.”

Jake’s smile falters at the edges. “We’re gonna be late for lunch.”

“It’ll be only for a few minutes,” Emma says. Jeremy’s never seen a girl so impervious to Jake’s charm before. He’s never seen _any_ living creature immune to Jake Dillinger before. Even _reptiles_ find Jake charming. “In fact, I’ll even walk him to the cafeteria. I’m sure Jeremy won’t mind. Right?”

Jeremy wilts under the pressure of her gaze. “I, uh.” He crumbles. “Just a couple minutes?”

Emma beams, victorious, while Jake purses his lips in concern. 

“Okay, then.” Jake squeezes Jeremy’s elbow. “I’ll go ahead. We’ll send a search party if you’re late, so don’t keep us waiting.” He says it like a joke for Jeremy, but the pointed look Jake gives Emma indicates who the mild threat really is meant for. 

Jake leaves, looking back twice before he slips out of view, and Jeremy feels very alone, even though the hallway still has a few students milling about.

“Does he really think I’ll eat you up right here?” Emma asks, looking amused. “How cute.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Jeremy asks. He wants this conversation to end as soon as possible. He wants to go sit with his friends, to be surrounded by them. He wants to stop feeling like he’s up for grabs, like he’s not his own person.

“About you, silly boy,” she says, folding her arms and leaning against the lockers. “I thought I could get to know you.”

_You know nothing about me_ , Jeremy doesn’t say. “I’m not that interesting.”

“I think you’re _very_ interesting,” she says, and the way she says those words, like the world’s filthiest dirty joke, makes Jeremy want to screech and run. “And cute. I’ve always liked cute ones.”

“I don’t have much to say.” Jeremy closes his locker, tries not to let his hands shake. 

“Why don’t we walk,” she says, taking his arm in one hand, forcing him to walk in step with her. “I did promise to deliver you before your curfew, after all.”

They get a few curious glances and even a clear grimace from Madeline, who takes one look at Emma and immediately scurries off to the bathroom. Jeremy feels a lot like a dog on a leash. Something about her proprietary touch makes him want to shove her away. 

“I know you’re quite the popular boy lately,” Emma says without even looking at him, not breaking stride. “And I’m not stupid. I know you’ve been having a rough few days. You’re adorable, and I think we could have fun." She says it all like a business proposition: professional and aloof, but still just this side of persuasive. "I won’t force you into anything, of course, but it might be beneficial to have me on your side, you know? Nobody will bother you once you’re off the market.”

They arrive at the cafeteria. Nearly all the students are seated and eating already, and Jeremy can see his friends at their table. He sees Michael looking in their direction, straightening up at the sight of Jeremy. 

“So think about it, okay?” Emma kisses his cheek, taking him by surprise, and then walks away.

Shell-shocked, Jeremy takes a moment to regain his bearings and walk to his table. Michael stares at him, keeps staring even after Jeremy is finally slumped over the table and melting into an anxious puddle.

“Dude, you okay?” Rich asks.

“Did she do anything? If she fucking tried _anything_ ,” Chloe starts darkly.

Christine pets Jeremy’s hair a little harder than usual. “We were worried about you. Especially Jake. And Michael.”

“You should’ve seen Michael yell at Jake for leaving you there,” Jenna stage-whispers. 

“I’m so sorry, bro,” Jake says, and he sounds so much like a kicked puppy that Jeremy has to straighten up again so he can wave off Jake’s guilt.

“Seriously, nothing happened,” Jeremy says. “Not your fault. I’m the one who was an idiot and made you leave.” He turns to Michael. “You really yelled at him?”

“I apologized,” Michael huffs, and wow, huffy Michael is rare. “Fuck, just, c’mere.” He grabs a napkin and rubs it on Jeremy’s cheek. “She fucking left lipstick on you.” He sounds deeply furious about that.

Brooke looks troubled. “What did she want?”

_To take me off the market, like I’m something for sale_ , Jeremy thinks. “To get to know me. Apparently.”

“Biblically?” Michael asks, sarcastic. The tension in his shoulders gives away his anger.

“Things are getting out of hand,” Jenna says.

“But there’s nothing else we can do,” Christine says. “Is there?”

Emma’s words run through Jeremy’s mind. What she said about taking him off the market. A vague, crazy notion comes to him. 

“They’ll leave me alone if I’m not single anymore,” Jeremy thinks out loud.

Everybody stares at him.

“Wait,” Michael says. There’s a hint of panic in his voice. “You’re not thinking about dating that Emma person just to get these girls off your back, are you?”

“No, I mean,” Jeremy says quickly. He lowers his voice. “As long as everybody _thinks_ I’m taken, they’ll leave me alone, right?”

The others trade incredulous looks around the table. 

“Jeremy,” Brooke says. “Are you saying that you’re going to make up a pretend girlfriend?”

“Nobody’s gonna believe the Canadian girlfriend crap,” Rich says. “Believe me, I tried it.”

Jake gives Rich a weird look. “When?”

Rich pats Jake on the back. “Before we were friends, babe. Don’t worry about it.”

“Actually," Jenna says in a contemplative voice, "that just might work."

“A Canadian girlfriend?” Chloe asks.

“No, I mean if Jeremy were to fake date somebody, it would work.” Jenna pauses, then points at Michael. “If Jeremy dates Michael, we can solve everything.”

Michael chokes on thin air. Brooke hits his back, while Jeremy gapes at how quickly things have escalated. “Wait, why Michael?”

Jenna points at Chloe. “Lesbian.” Jake and Rich. “Gay and very together.” Christine and Brooke. “And nobody’s gonna believe you got back together with either of your exes.” She gestures at Michael. “He’s your only option.”

“Technically, you’re an option too,” Christine says.

Jenna considers that. “Technically yes, but it’s better if it’s Michael. One, girls will be more discouraged if Jeremy’s in a gay relationship, and two, better chemistry between those two. I’m just not gonna be able to fake being in love with him.” She looks at Jeremy. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jeremy says.

“What, and I’m gonna fake being in lo—I’m gonna be a believable fake boyfriend?” Michael asks, but it’s weak. Hardly a proper protest. From across the table, Christine shoots Michael a concerned look.

“If you want Jeremy’s virtue to remain intact, then yeah, you better be believable,” Chloe says. 

And Michael, who has saved Jeremy’s ass more times than either of them can count, who’s been protecting Jeremy since they met twelve years ago, looks at Jeremy with an unreadable look on his face. Takes a deep breath, and jumps on the grenade for Jeremy once again. “Okay, yeah, let’s be boyfriends.” 

-

“What do boyfriends even do?” Michael asks. They’re sitting in Jeremy’s bedroom, the weight of their terrible life choices still not quite sinking in. Jeremy’s been vacantly staring at a blank wall for five minutes. 

“Whatever Rich and Jake do, I guess,” he says.

“Are we really going to take relationship pointers from Rich and Jake?” Michael asks. “Not that I have anything against them, but like. _Rich and Jake_.”

Rich and Jake, who dash through the school hallways with Rich on Jake's shoulders, screaming 'NYOOM NYOOM MOTHERFUCKERS' while Jake laughs the entire time. Rich and Jake, who accidentally blew up the chem lab last semester. Rich and Jake, whose idea of romance is almost getting arrested for setting a dumpster on fire because 'we were drunk and wanted to make out by a campfire, so it made sense at the time.' 

"Point taken," Jeremy says.

"What do we do?" Michael kicks himself into a slow, bewildered spin on Jeremy's wheelie chair. "Should serenading be involved? Will it look believable if one of us sings Teenage Dream?"

"That's a Glee reference, isn't it." Jeremy flops backwards so that he's laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "No serenading. It looks stupid."

"Hey, don't diss Klaine," Michael says. "And wow, no sense of romance at all. You won't sing Katy Perry for me? What happened to our honeymoon period? You're breaking my heart here, Jer."

"I just spent the entire car ride singing along to Kesha. That counts as serenading, doesn't it?"

"No it doesn't." Michael kicks at Jeremy's feet. "Dude, put some effort into this fake relationship."

Jeremy laughs. It's amazing, how Michael can just chase away the bleakness just by being himself. "We already argue like an old married couple. I think we're gonna be pretty believable."

"Yeah, sure, because arguing in front of girls is what's going to convince them that you're happily in a gay relationship with me." There's a short silence. "You okay with that?"

Jeremy lifts his head to look at Michael. "With what?"

"The whole gay thing." Michael hunches his shoulders, eyes darting to Jeremy's windows. "You're not gay."

"Yeah," Jeremy says slowly, trying to figure out why Michael's being weird about this, "but I'm bi."

Michael stares at him. "Wait. You're bi? Rich Goranski-style bisexual? 'You like your boys the way you like your girls' bisexual?"

"Um, yes?" Did they never have this conversation? "Michael, I thought we went over this before." A thought occurs to him. "Wait, did you really think I said yes to a fake gay relationship while I'm straight?"

"No, you never told me this before," Michael says loudly. He sounds offended by this new revelation. "I thought you were straight!"

Jeremy pushes himself up so that he's resting on his elbows. "I thought you knew. Sorry?"

A million emotions cross Michael's face before realization dawns. "Did everybody else know? Is that why they were all chill with us being fake boyfriends?"

"Uh, maybe?" He's fairly sure he told Rich and Chloe. And Brooke. He's not sure about the others. "It's not like I was trying to keep it a secret or anything. It just never came up, most of the time." He's a little worried about Michael's reaction to this. "Dude, is this a problem?"

"What? No, no it's not," Michael says. "It's just, I feel like I neglected my best friend duties by not knowing this about you first."

Jeremy raises an eyebrow at him. "You're pretending to be my boyfriend—“ and wow, saying that word gives him a weird, lurching feel in his stomach “—to protect me from crazy girls. You're acing your best friend duties, Michael."

Weirdly, his words seem to cause Michael to deflate, rather than cheer him up. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

"So about the whole boyfriend thing," Jeremy says to change the subject, "what do we say in case anybody asks for specifics? Today's our Day One, right? Do you think it'll be suspiciously convenient timing for us to start dating right now?"

Michael starts spinning around in the wheelie chair again, not really looking at Jeremy. "We'll say that I asked you out because I've had a thing for you for a long time, and I was getting jealous of all these girls trying to throw themselves at you. And you could say that you've been thinking about me like that for a while now? And that you never considered it seriously because we're best bros and didn't want to mess that up?" Michael's voice wobbles as he kicks himself into another spin. "So we're giving it a shot, and we really want it to work out."

That's...pretty believable. "Wow, that works really well." Jeremy flops back so he's laying down again. "You put some thought into this."

Michael gives a half-hearted laugh. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Jenna said she's going to spread the word about us," Jeremy recalls. "Is there anything else we should do? Some glaring neon sign that will keep scary girls away?"

Michael hums in consideration. "I can drive you to school? I already drive you home every day anyway."

"Doesn't feel like a glaring neon sign," Jeremy says. "But yes, please drive me to school."

"Okay." Michael comes over and flops belly-down onto the bed beside Jeremy, worming close. "How about we hold hands? Pretty obviously gay, right?"

"That works." Jeremy turns his head to look at Michael, thinking over the logistics. "But we don't really see each other a lot because our schedules suck. I want to make sure everybody gets the message, even if you're not right next to me."

Michael presses his lips together in a flat line for a minute, gaze flickering over Jeremy's face, before he sits up and pulls his hoodie off. 

"Uh, Michael?" Jeremy blinks up at him.

The hoodie is shoved into Jeremy's arms. "Put it on," Michael says, rubbing his bare arms and looking determinedly at the wall. It's weird to see him just wearing a gray Zelda shirt, no hoodie or sweater or jacket. "Rich wears Jake's varsity jacket when it's cold, so this can be like that."

"You sure?" Jeremy asks, hugging the red hoodie to his chest. It's Michael's favorite, which he wears pretty much every other day. He knows Michael doesn't like being apart from it. "I mean, it'd be the best neon sign ever, but it's your signature hoodie."

Michael lays back down, looking Jeremy in the eye as he says, "Yeah. I'm sure."

Jeremy looks back at him for a long moment, then shoves himself upright so he can discard his cardigan and pull on Michael's hoodie instead. It's worn soft with use and repeated machine washing, and smells of laundry detergent and cinnamon and vanilla. It fits him comfortably. He turns to Michael and spreads his arms a little. "So, what do you think?"

A soft, crooked smile blooms on Michael's face as he flops back down onto the bed again. "Yeah, it suits you." 

"Gay enough?" Jeremy asks. His cheeks feel warm. Maybe it's the hoodie. He follows Michael's example and bellyflops onto his bed, hoping the sheets will cool his face. 

"Yeah, you even have a gay pride patch to show for it," Michael says, poking at the rainbow flag on Jeremy's shoulder. His fingers skim down the hoodie sleeve, leaving a warm trail down Jeremy's arm. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping his fingers around Jeremy's. "There. We'll be like this and chase crazy girls away with our gayness."

Jeremy cracks up. "Oh my god, that would be a great video game."

"Totally," Michael agrees, squeezing Jeremy's hand. "Shit, that reminds me. We need to finish playing Apocalypse of the Damned." 

"Oh yeah," Jeremy says. "Let's do that."

They both sit up, letting go of each other, and Jeremy tries not to think about how cold his hand feels. He looks at Michael rubbing his arms again and takes off the hoodie, offering it back to its rightful owner. "Dude, wear it for now. You can give it to me tomorrow morning."

"Good idea." Michael puts on the hoodie, then starts moving off the bed to make a beeline for Jeremy's gaming console. "When's your dad coming home?"

"I think we have another hour before he's back," Jeremy says. Then, "Shit. So do we tell him you're my boyfriend now?"

Michael looks at Jeremy with wide eyes. "Shit."

-

The next morning, Michael sends Jeremy a text saying **YOU BETTER BE AWAKE, BOYFRIEND** fifteen minutes before he pulls up in front of Jeremy's house, beeping his horn obnoxiously until Jeremy runs out with his dad yelling after him, "Tell your boyfriend to keep it down!"

"Oh my god," Jeremy says, climbing into the shotgun seat with his ears still hot from his dad's teasing. "Michael, someone's going to call the cops on you if you keep doing that."

"I bet Rich would approve of that," Michael says, throwing his hoodie at Jeremy before he pulls out of the driveway. He's wearing a dark blue sweater that has two Pac-mans and TWOPAC written beneath it. 

"Why are you wearing that stupid pun sweater," Jeremy says as he tugs the hoodie on. He got that sweater as a gag gift for Michael two Christmases ago. "Does the whole school really need to know that my boyfriend likes stupid puns?" Calling Michael his boyfriend still gives him a weird twinge.

"Oh, is that how it is? I wear a sign of our love and you mock me for it?" Michael puts a hand on his chest in faux-shock. "You wound me, honey bunny."

"Never call me that again.”

“Sure thing, sugar-muffin,” Michael says, smirking with his eyes on the road. He looks like he's enjoying himself, which is a nice improvement, but it looks like Jeremy's going to pay the price with his sanity. 

Jeremy buries his face in his hands. "You came prepared with a list of them, didn't you."

"Just for you, diddlykins," Michael sing-songs in confirmation. 

-

They walk all the way to Jeremy’s locker holding hands, and practically every single person in the hallway stares at them. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking. Jeremy inches closer to Michael so that they’re practically walking with their shoulders glued together, clinging on for dear life. Michael holds his hand a little tighter. “It’s okay,” he says softly, for Jeremy’s ears only. “I’m right here.”

“Everybody’s looking at us,” Jeremy mumbles back, and his face is bright red, he knows it, because it’s his most obvious tell when he’s nervous. 

“Probably because my boyfriend is so hot,” Michael says, rubbing his thumb over Jeremy’s knuckles soothingly. It makes Jeremy want to shudder from how nice it feels. He’s being overly sensitive.

They pass by Madeline, who goes pink and averts her eyes, and then Ashley, who takes one look at them and scowls with the look of a hawk that just got its prey stolen from its talons. Agirl Jeremy barely knows sighs sadly at the sight of their joined hands. Nobody approaches them.

“How’s it going for you newlyweds?” Chloe asks from where she’s lounging next to Jeremy’s locker. Brooke is standing next to her, looking pleased at her ex-boyfriend’s very public relationship status update. 

“So far so good,” Michael replies, letting go of Jeremy’s hand to let him open his locker. “Nobody coming to try steal my boyfriend from me.”

“You guys are adorable.” Brooke takes a picture.

“Yo!” Rich pops up out of nowhere. “Looking good, you two! Now hold on a sec.” He grabs hold of Jeremy’s backpack, brandishing a thick permanent marker. “Lemme help you guys out.”

“Are you vandalizing my backpack?” Jeremy doesn’t bother to move, except to tug his textbooks out of his locker.

“Nope. Redecorating it,” Rich says. He lets go and lunges for Michael’s. 

Michael graciously turns his back to Rich for better access. “Just don’t write anything that’ll get me detention.”

“Nah man, I wouldn’t do that to you.” Rich releases Michael’s backpack, then nods in satisfaction. “Alright, you guys are perfect boyfriends now. Not as perfect as me and Jakey D, but close enough.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy says, peering around to see what Rich wrote on his backpack. It says BOY F. 

Wordlessly, Michael slips his bag off and shows it to Jeremy. RIENDS is written on it. “I guess this seals the deal.” Michael looks bemused. He shrugs his backpack on again. “Well, I gotta run to math, so I’ll see ya later.” He hesitates, then boops Jeremy’s nose. “Don’t miss me too much, cupcake,” he says in a teasing voice.

“Wow, you guys are so gross already,” Chloe snarks, joining Michael as they walk away. Jeremy can hear her say, “You give me cavities.”

Brooke and Rich wait for Jeremy to close his locker, then bracket him as they walk to class. They both pepper him with joking questions about his new dating life, ignoring the other occasional stares and Hannah Brown giving them a wide berth. They sit near the back of the classroom, laughing amongst themselves, Rich and Brooke teaming up to tease Jeremy mercilessly into a blushing mess until the teacher calls for them to be quiet. As Mr. Gill writes on the blackboard, Jeremy tugs the collar of the hoodie up, breathing in the scent of cinnamon, feeling warm, as if summer came six weeks early. He hums under his breath, pleased with how safe and happy he feels.

All in all, it’s probably the best start to the school day Jeremy’s had this entire year.

-

“Oh wow,” Christine laughs as she sees Rich’s handiwork. “Is this permanent marker?”

“Yeah. It’s there forever now.” Jeremy stretches back in his seat, feeling his joints pop. He’s feeling a little drowsy, a side effect of the hoodie’s comfiness and the warmth it gives him. “Ugh. Poke me awake if I fall asleep.”

Christine frowns at him, affronted by the idea of anybody dozing off in drama class. “I will poke you very hard,” she promises.

“Mm,” Jeremy hums. He’s going to be poked very hard, very soon.

There’s a quiet moment, students still shuffling in, Mr. Reyes not present yet. Jeremy’s eyes droop as he props his head on his hand, hoodie collar pulled up a little so he can smell that spicy scent. Then Christine says, in a quiet voice that nobody else can hear, “You’ll need a new bag after this.”

“Huh?” Jeremy picks his head back up to look at her. 

“After all this.” Christine waves a hand, looking distressed. It chases the drowsiness away immediately. “You and Michael will probably pretend to break up, and then you can’t use this bag after that.”

Alarm rings in Jeremy’s head. “Wait, break up?”

Christine leans closer so there’s no danger of anybody else overhearing them. “Unless you plan to just date Michael for the rest of your life? This is just a, a scam,” she stutters, like it’s an ugly thing that she can’t bear to say, “so that people will leave you alone. You can’t pretend forever.”

“No, I mean, of course not.” Jeremy watches Christine droop a little, and it stings to see her look so sad. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not like we’ll be breaking up any time soon.”

Christine shakes her head. “No, but you’re going to eventually.”

Yes, they will. Because Jeremy and Michael are not real boyfriends. They’re just pretending to be. And it’s all going to have to end at some point, which is something that Jeremy didn’t consider yesterday. It’s not like they’d be breaking up for real, like they’ll stop being friends or anything. It’s not like anything will change.

But the idea still clings onto him, weighs his heart down, and he can’t figure out why it bothers him so much.

-

“Jer-Bear!” Michael cheers when they reunite at lunch. The stupid nickname makes Jeremy smile.

“I bet you’re going to run out of nicknames before the end of the week,” he says.

Michael gives him the finger-guns. “You’re on. Twenty bucks?”

Jeremy’s about to take the deal when Jake boos. “No, c’mon. You’re supposed to bet fun things now that you’re dating.”

“Like how you bet Rich that he can’t actually eat an entire pizza and then had to wear a dress to play rehearsal last semester?” Jeremy hazards. He’s still scarred from how Rich had whooped and promptly crawled under the long skirt, cheerfully yelling, ‘oh my god, you really did wear matching underwear!’ 

“That was fun,” Jake says. Sometimes, Jeremy isn’t really sure how Jake is a real person.

“It really was,” Rich agrees. 

Clearly, the two of them are meant for each other.

“No crossdressing,” Michael says, looking just as uncomfortable by the memory as Jeremy is. Michael had fled to the sound tech booth the moment Jake had gone red and said, ‘Rich, don’t take it _off_!’ 

Jenna glances up from her phone. “Do something I can post online.”

“Uh,” Jeremy says. “Can’t I just take the twenty bucks?”

“How about a kiss?” Brooke suggests.

“Brooke!” Jeremy yelps, whole face heating up. “How is that a punishment for the loser anyway?”

Michael has gone red, too. “Loser carries the winner's stuff for a week?”

“Boring!” Rich vetoes.

Chloe says, “I vote for the loser singing in the cafeteria.”

Even Christine adds, “Maybe the loser can recite love poetry for the winner? That’d be sweet!”

“Why are we crowdsourcing the terms of our bet?” Jeremy asks.

“Because our friends are nosy bastards,” Michael grumbles. “You guys aren’t in on the bet, so none of you get to vote!” Everybody boos.

"How about this," Jenna says, finally setting her phone down. "Loser has to ask the winner out to prom."

Chloe sets her fork down. "Isn't it too early for promposals?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Christine says, looking worried, eyes darting from Jeremy to Michael, and Jeremy can tell what she's thinking. He's thinking the same thing: will they still be pretending to be boyfriends until then?

Jenna shakes her head. "Prom's six weeks away, so people are gonna start asking each other out in a couple weeks. If _this_ is still gonna be a thing," she says as she points at Jeremy and Michael, "a public proposal is gonna be a good deterrent for the rest of the semester. And it's not like I'm saying you have to do it immediately next Monday; you can do it a couple weeks later. It'll give the loser time to plan shit ahead."

Brooke looks dubious. "Well...it's not a bad idea."

"I think it's a _great_ idea," Rich says. 

Jake and Christine exchange half-convinced looks. Jake says, "Yeah, might as well decide who does the asking ahead of time."

"Maybe," Christine agrees, still wary.

Jeremy feels apprehensive. He looks at Michael, who looks unsure but a little tempted, his eyes flickering between Jeremy and — Jeremy turns to see what he's looking at, and sees Emma's red hair in the distance. Something cold coils in his gut at the sight. 

Michael's gaze hardens, then he turns back to the table. "Yeah, let's do it."

"Wait, seriously?" Jeremy asks. 

Michael nods, looking determined, maybe even a bit like he's warming to the idea. "Sure, might as well."

Jeremy pouts. “Fine.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Michael says, poking at Jeremy’s puckered mouth. “At least neither of us are going to wear skirts.”

Jeremy exaggerates his pout. 

“Dude, put that mouth back where it belongs,” Michael says, poking him again.

“Or what.”

“Or I’ll fucking kiss you,” Michael says, ears going a furious red but not backing down. Christine makes a muffled sound of shock in the background, and Chloe actually chokes on her food. Jeremy feels his entire body go hot, and for one insane, delirious second, he wants to call Michael's bluff, keep his lips puckered and see if Michael will follow through on that threat. Wants to see if Michael will lean in and really kiss him.

And then the moment passes and Jeremy regains his sanity, heart beating wildly under the safety of Michael’s hoodie, pursing his mouth and blushing furiously, trying to look at anything but Michael’s daring eyes. He focuses on Jenna thumping Chloe’s back. “Right, of course. You’re threatening me with PDA. Got it.”

“Boyfriend privileges,” Michael says, and his voice is a little lower than usual, his thumb caressing Jeremy’s inner wrist, tracing his pulse point. Jeremy very nearly shivers.

“Right,” Jeremy says, barely succeeding in keeping his voice steady. Of course. They're in the cafeteria, surrounded by high schoolers hungry for gossip, and there are a lot of eyes on the school's newest couple. This is just an act, Michael playing up his role so that Jeremy can walk through the halls harassment-free. Nothing to take seriously.

(Deep down, he wonders how far Michael will go. How far he can be pushed. Just how much Michael will do for Jeremy, if Jeremy asked him to.)

-

By the time the last period ends, Jeremy has still been miraculously unmolested. He's so relaxed by it that he doesn't see Gina coming until she's slamming his locker closed for him.

"Jeremy Heere," she greets him, lips curled in a half-snarl. 

"Hi, Gina," Jeremy says, taking a step back. He walked here with Jenna, but she's in the bathroom. He wonders if Gina was waiting for this opportunity. 

"Nice outfit." He can hear the disbelief in the empty compliment. She's not buying his new dating status at all. "Your boyfriend's?"

"Yeah," Jeremy says, and he's almost exasperated by her persistence. The warm weight of the hoodie, still smelling faintly of Michael, somehow eases the terror just enough for his annoyance to outweigh it. "Is there a problem?"

She narrows her eyes, a predator sizing up its prey, and Jeremy doesn't quail under her gaze, though it's a close thing. He’s exhausted by people acting like he’s a meal and not a person. He clutches his backpack straps, reminding himself of the letters written on it, the first half of a territory marker that means _keep away from me, I'm not for sale_. 

Just as Gina's opening her mouth to say something, a hand clamps down on her shoulder, Jenna pulling Gina back a step with a grim smile. "Hey there."

Then Michael's shouldering his way in front of Jeremy, putting himself between Jeremy and Gina's flabbergasted face. He can't see Michael's face from this angle, but there's a thread of unamused disdain in his voice when he says, "Hi, you have something to say to my boyfriend?"

To her credit, Gina doesn't even flinch, despite being over a head shorter than everybody present. "What, a girl can't even _talk_ to a boy anymore?"

"Sorry," Michael says, sounding not sorry at all, "I'm the jealous type."

Gina shrugs Jenna's hand off, disgruntled sneer on her lips. "Sure you are. Whatever." She shoots a look at Jeremy over Michael's shoulder. "Overly controlling boyfriends are overrated." 

She sniffs and walks away, leaving Michael mumbling an incredulous ‘ _controlling?’_ under his breath.

"Holy shit, did I just see that?" Rich asks, sidling up to Jenna and watching Gina walk off.Distantly, it occurs to Jeremy that Rich is probably the only person who doesn't tower over Gina in their grade. 

"Yeah, you did," Jenna says.

"She really doesn't know when to give up," Michael says. He turns around to face Jeremy, looking concerned. "Jer, you okay?"

Instead of answering, Jeremy staggers forward, sagging against Michael and curling his arms around his waist as the stress hits him all at once. He buries his face into the side of Michael’s neck. Michael freezes under him with a garbled noise.

“You are my favorite person,” Jeremy says into the warm patch of skin right above the Pac-man sweater's collar. Michael’s breath hitches as he slowly hugs Jeremy back, rubbing warm circles over the back of his hoodie, melting the tension out of Jeremy’s spine. He clings onto Michael a little tighter.

“O-kay,” Rich says, and Jeremy looks up to realize that there are at least two dozen people staring at them in the hall. “You guys are really gay.”

“Pot describing kettle,” Jenna says.

“I don’t know, I think we could be gayer,” Jake’s voice says from behind Jeremy, finally prompting him to detach himself from Michael.

“Please don’t. We don’t need to see you trying to out-gay each other,” Chloe says from beside Jake. She frowns at Jeremy, then Michael. “Okay, if you’re done, we have a rehearsal to go to.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jeremy says, pushing down the forlorn part of him that wants to be hugged just a bit more. He tangles his hand with Michael’s and shuts up the stupid touch-hungry voice inside of him. “Let’s go.”

-

Rehearsal is more or less uneventful, so Jeremy’s in a good mood by the time they’re back in Michael’s PT Cruiser for the ride back home. 

He tugs on the hem of the hoodie and asks, “You want me to give it back to you?”

Michael glances at him, then turns his attention back to his driving. “You could keep it for now. I don’t mind. Are you gonna wear it tomorrow?”

“Maybe?” He doesn’t have to. He’s already made his point today, and there’s no need to really wear it two days in a row, but…he doesn’t want to give it back just yet. “I haven’t worn it to bio class, so yeah, I think I’ll wear it tomorrow.” 

The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches up. “Make sure that emo girl gets the message to stop staring at you so much. Don’t want her to burn a hole in my pudding munch’s face.”

“Ew.” Jeremy grimaces. “Dude, do you really have to pick the worst nicknames in the history of mankind?”

“Don’t be like that, sweetie-boo.”

“I hate you.” 

“No you don’t,” Michael says, openly grinning now. He waggles his eyebrows in Jeremy’s direction. “I’m your favowite person, remember? No take-backs!”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jeremy says, and turns up the radio volume to drown out Michael’s cackling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure when promposal season is supposed to begin, but I threw it in there. Also, kudos to anybody who saw the fake dating trope coming!


	3. Chapter 3

Friday morning starts with a **WAKEY, WAKEY, SUNSHINE** text from Michael that has Jeremy groan-laughing into his pillow. He washes up and pulls the red hoodie on over a plain teeshirt and jeans, then goes downstairs to scarf down breakfast. His dad eyes the hoodie with a twinkle in his eye that has Jeremy preemptively glaring at him to forestall any teasing. It doesn’t work.

“Say hello to Michael for me,” his dad calls after him as he runs out the front door to where Michael is blaring his horn again.

“One day, someone’s going to file a complaint against you,” Jeremy says as he climbs into the car.

“I would totally get arrested for you, my snuggle-bunny,” Michael says.

“You’re turning into Rich. Please stop.”

Michael laughs and turns up the volume so that they’re blasting Bob Marley through the open windows, Jeremy humming along to the music while Michael drums the steering wheel to the beat. By the time they’re slowing to a stop in the school parking lot, Jeremy’s laughing his ass off while Michael tries to sing along to Taylor Swift, which is not working out very well for him.

Jeremy tumbles out of the car holding his stomach, which hurts from laughing so hard. “Michael, dude, I’m sorry for laughing at you, please forgive me.”

“You don’t appreciate my soprano skills,” Michael says, mock-wounded. “That’s it, snookums, I’m not driving you to school anymore.”

“Michael,” Jeremy wheezes, latching onto Michael’s arm as he feigns begging for mercy. “My boyfriend, my Player One to my Player Two, the Riend to my Boyf—” 

Michael starts cracking up at that one. “Dude, what the fuck.”

“I’m honoring Rich’s contributions to our relationship,” Jeremy says, still clinging to Michael’s arm as they trudge their way in through the school entrance. “Forgive me, I’ll stop making fun of you every time your voice cracks on the high notes, please don't quit as my chauffeur.”

“Whatever.” Michael twists to ruffle Jeremy’s hair with his free hand, messing it all up, causing Jeremy to squawk and bat Michael’s hand away.

“Yo,” Jake says, joining them on their walk to the lockers. “You guys are still coming tonight, right?”

“8PM sharp,” Michael confirms. Jake had given them the puppy eyes when they’d hesitated over coming to his post-spring break back-to-school bash. Jake has terribly effective puppy eyes. 

“Awesome!” Jake cheers. 

They stop by Jake’s locker, where Brooke and Rich wave at them. Rich and Jake engage in a ritual that starts with a fist-bump and ends with Rich slapping Jake’s ass. It’s something Jeremy’s gotten used to seeing on a daily basis, and it somehow manages to be weird every time. “Should we do something like that?”

Michael gives him a suffering look. “I thought you were against me turning into Rich?”

“Yeah, never mind, my mouth just moved without my brain’s permission.” Jeremy doesn’t want to have his ass slapped. He doesn’t want to slap Michael’s ass, either, even if it would be really funny. “We’re good just the way we are.”

Brooke just sighs and mutters something that sounds a lot like _boys_ under her breath.

“Okay, sweetie-pie, I’ll see you later,” Michael says, 

“What are you, a mother from the sixties?” Jeremy rolls his eyes. He punches Michael in the arm. “Yeah, I’ll see you in the computer lab.”

After Michael walks off and Jake goes to class with Rich, Brooke and Jeremy start walking to class. “Sweetie-pie?” Brooke teases.

“He’s just messing with me,” Jeremy says. “You should have heard him earlier. He called me _snookums_.”

Brooke giggles. “Aw, I think it’s sweet.”

“Your definition of sweet needs some work.”

She ignores him. “You should give him a nickname too. It’ll be less one-sided that way.”

“I’m pretty sure the stupid nicknames can stay one-sided.” Brooke gives him an unimpressed look, which still makes him want to backpedal and apologize even though they broke up ages ago. “What would I even call him? ‘Honey?’ Or what, ‘darling?’” Even the idea of it makes him want to cringe. He can’t imagine calling Michael anything other than Michael. Mikey, if he wants to get on Michael’s nerves. Michael’s always been the one to invent nicknames and make them feel natural, not Jeremy. “He’d probably punch me.”

“Hmmm.” They step into French class, and Brooke’s eyes gleam. “How about _mon chou_?”

That’s still the equivalent of _sweetie_. “I’m not calling him a cabbage,” he evades.

“You know what I mean.”

They both bicker like that as they go to the corner where Chloe’s sitting, inviting her to weigh in on the Great Nickname Debate, and only shut up when Mrs. Leroy strolls in and announces a pop-quiz.

-

Brooke and Chloe both pressgang him into at least _trying_ a French endearment on Michael, if only because they think it’ll be hilarious, and Jeremy thinks it’s a reasonable effort to standing up against Michael’s terrible nickname parade. So he ends up walking into the computer lab for yearbook class and greeting Michael with, “Hey, _mon chéri_.”

Brooke is right behind him taking a video with her phone, which is fortunate because they’re treated to Michael doing the most wide-eyed double take, complete with a full five seconds in-between to underscore Michael’s bewilderment. 

“What did you just call me?” Michael asks, voice shrill. His face is turning an interesting shade of red. “Did you just call me ‘honey’ in French?”

“Pretty much,” Jeremy says. He can feel the back of his neck growing warm. “I thought it would be a good revenge?”

Michael mutters something under his breath, pauses, then slaps a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. “Oh boy.” The hand slides down a little, covering Michael’s mouth, and he’s looking at Jeremy with a strange determined look in his eyes, his cheeks still red. “Fine.” He fixes his glasses, then says, “You started this, _sinta ko_.”

“Wait, no, you were the one who was calling me stupid nicknames,” Jeremy protests. He’s not sure what Michael just called him, because Michael rarely speaks Filipino around Jeremy unless it’s swear words. Wait, was it an insult? 

“And you’re the one who decided to escalate,” Michael retorts.

“No lovers’ quarrels in the lab,” Carrie yells, swanning into the lab with three thick binders in her arms and her DSLR swinging on its strap. She’s the chief editor, and possibly the nicest senior in the entire school. “Which, by the way, congrats to you both.” She wrestles her with her tote bag and digs out two Snickers bars, which she throws to Jeremy and Michael. “Okay, get working, everybody!”

Jeremy slides into his seat and starts logging into the computer. “What did you just call me, by the way? That was Filipino, right?”

Michael keeps his eyes on his own computer screen, clicking open the file they were last working on. “I called you a dumbass.”

“Rude.” He’s about to say more when Carrie pokes her head between them.

“Focus, boys. You can be all lovey-dovey after you finish your new layout,” she says, then moves on to discuss the prom section with Brooke and Brooke’s partner.

Jeremy waits until Michael’s eyes flit back to him, then sticks his tongue out, earning a snigger from Michael. After that, they make sure their conversation sticks mostly to which photos they want to use.

-

They're on their way to Jeremy's locker after lunch when Jeremy sees Erica Cho making a beeline for them. There's a slightly manic gleam to her eyes.

"Oh no," he says under his breath, which is all the warning he manages to give Michael before Erica ambushes them with a grin, grabbing onto Jeremy and Michael's arms with both hands. Michael freezes from the sudden contact.

"Hey!" Erica says. She doesn't have any classes with Jeremy this semester, but she was one of the nice ones back when they did. Jeremy did a group project with her back in sophomore year, and she was nothing less than bubbly and polite. He really hopes she's not here to reveal a scary side. "So I just wanted to talk to you guys?"

"Yes it's true, he's taken," Michael grits out, seeming to recover from the unexpected attack of cheery friendliness. "We're a thing, now."

Erica claps her hands together. "Awesome!" Which is not the response that Jeremy was expecting. Judging by Michael's stunned face, Michael didn't expect that, either. "So do you mind if I ask you guys a few questions for the school newspaper?" 

"What," Jeremy says. Michael gapes. 

Erica produces a notepad and a pencil out of thin air. "Nothing too invasive, I promise. It'll only take like, five minutes, and we really need some fresh material. Please?"

Jeremy exchanges a look of panic with Michael. "I don't know," Jeremy says, "this is kinda sudden?"

"We're not that interesting," Michael adds.

The hopeful, pleading look in Erica's eyes dims a little, which immediately makes Jeremy feel like the world's biggest asshole. "But if it's just five minutes," he says quickly, ignoring the wide-eyed _abort, abort_ look from Michael and a similar alarm in his own head. 

Erica perks right up. "Oh, yay! Thank you so much. I won't publish anything you guys don't want me to," she promises, dragging them to a secluded corner by the stairwell. "Um, yeah, so is it true you started dating just two days ago?"

"Yeah," Michael says, because that one's easy.

"And you've been friends for a long time before that, right? Best friends?"

"Twelve years," Jeremy says. Still true.

Erica nods, scribbling that down. "So best friends for twelve years, and you're dating now. Which one of you asked the other one out?"

"I did," Michael says, hand squeezing Jeremy's. "I've had a crush on him for years, actually." Jeremy tries not to feel guilty about lying to Erica's face, which has gone soft with awe and understanding. 

"That's so sweet," Erica says, hand never pausing as she write notes down. She turns to Jeremy. "And how long have you liked Michael?"

They're prepared for this. It doesn't make it any easier for Jeremy to clear his throat and say as steadily as he can, "For a while now, I guess. I mean, I didn't want to mess up our friendship, so I never really considered it seriously. But uh, then Michael asked me out, and it started looking like we could actually make it work, so." He swallows. ”We want it to work."

"Aw," Erica coos. "I'm so happy for you two. How have your friends and family reacted to this? I know it's not always easy to be gay," she taps her bi pride button on her camera strap with a small smile, "so if this is a sensitive area for you we can skip this part."

Jeremy looks at Michael, who's looking back at him helplessly, shrugging when Jeremy cocks his head at him to confirm whether he's cool with this. He turns back to finally say, "My dad's supportive of us," even if he doesn't know that this is all a sham, "and Michael's parents always liked me," even if they don't know the truth, "and our friends are happy for us." Even if they know this is all the biggest lie Jeremy's ever told. 

Erica looks happy on their behalf, which just makes the guilt stronger. "That's so great!" She focuses on jotting down her notes for a moment before she looks up with an apologetic smile. "Okay, two more questions and I'll stop bothering you. First: name your ideal date with the other person."

Jeremy sticks to reality and automatically says, "Video games at my place."

"Dude." Michael elbows him. "We do that all the time."

"Yeah, and I like it," Jeremy argues back, face heating up a little. "What's wrong with that?"

"Not a single romantic bone in your body," Michael deadpans, giving Erica a suffering look which she stifles a laugh at. "Wow, honeybunch, I really feel loved."

"What?" Jeremy whines. "It's not like I need to do anything special as long as I'm with you." Erica coughs and Michael goes a little red-faced. "Fine, you tell me your grand date plans, then."

Michael rubs his face, turning to face Erica. "Je-sus, okay." He takes a deep breath. "I'd take Jeremy to the zoo."

Jeremy blinks. "Wait, that's it?"

"Yeah." Michael pokes Jeremy's cheek. "You fucking love animals, and I love watching you screech like a pterodactyl every time you see an otter or something. He gets all hyped up and talks to every animal," he explains to Erica. Then this mischievous look lights up in Michael's eyes and Jeremy _knows_ what's coming next. He isn't fast enough in clapping a hand over Michael's mouth to stop him from saying, "My boyfriend is a fucking furry."

"I am _not_!" Jeremy shrieks, trying to put Michael in a headlock and ignoring the weird looks from the few people passing by. He shoots a wild look at Erica. "I'm not, please don't print that, my boyfriend is a _jerk_."

Erica laughs. "Yeah, that'll be confidential." Jeremy groans. "I'll just put down that Jeremy likes animals. I went to the Bronx Zoo over spring break, it was really fun."

"At least I'm not the one who said video games," Michael wheezes, having escaped headlock prison by grabbing Jeremy's wrists and twisting them behind his back. Damn it, how is Michael still the stronger one when Jeremy's the one who's been working out? "Jesus, you could have at least said Netflix and chill."

"Ew, no," Jeremy hisses, mortification shooting through him. "This is for the school newspaper, you perv."

Erica clears her throat to get their attention. They both stop trying to wrestle and let go of each other, embarrassed, but she doesn't seem to mind their shenanigans. She's smiling in amusement. "Last question." Jeremy inwardly heaves a sigh in relief. "What do you love most about each other?"

Jeremy's brain blanks out. "Erm."

There’s an extended moment of silence, during which Michael looks at him and presumably recognizes the _Error 404 Page Not Found_ look on Jeremy's face because he scratches the back his neck with a long sigh, then straightens his shoulders with the look of someone about to walk into battle.

"Jeremy can be a trainwreck," Michael says, and wraps his fingers around Jeremy's when Jeremy makes an offended noise. "He's sensitive and gets nervous a lot. Shy as fuck, always worried, super easily freaked out." He tightens his grip on Jeremy's hand. "He's tense all the time." He pauses, inhales, exhales shakily. "But when he's relaxed and happy, uh, he has this incredible smile. It could light up the entire state of New Jersey.” Jeremy possibly stops breathing. "He looks fucking amazing when he's smiling like that," Michael says, gaze resolutely on the back of Erica's notepad. "I want him to smile like that all the damn time."

Everything is quiet for a second, then Erica's turning to Jeremy. "And what about you, Jeremy?"

Jeremy's staring at Michael, the red tips of his ears and his averted eyes, and he can't look away. "I," he breathes, his entire world tilting off-axis, "I am a mess." Michael jolts, confused eyes meeting Jeremy's. "And Michael is always there for me. He makes everything easier, just by being there.” The words fall out of him, bypassing all anxiety and self-censoring and the logical part of him that is screaming _what are you doing_. "And he never lets me down, even when I'm an idiot, and I don't know how I've gotten this lucky to have him." 

Michael looks at him in mute shock. Jeremy can barely breathe, hand numbly clinging onto Michael's, and he doesn't know how long they stare at each other until Erica coughs, bringing Jeremy crashing back to reality. He rips his eyes away from Michael's. 

"Wow." She's a little pink. Jeremy can relate; his face is on fire. "You two are really cute." She folds the notepad away and then lifts her camera. “I wanted to ask if I could take a pic of you two.”

Michael emits an incoherent sound.

"I think we’re gonna be late for class though," Erica says without missing a beat. "So maybe I'll just take one of you guys later? I'm supposed to go take pictures of the musical rehearsal today, if both of you'll be there?"

"That works," Jeremy manages to choke out.

"Great. See you there!" Doubtlessly sensing the awkward atmosphere, Erica bolts from their corner and runs off, leaving Jeremy, Michael, and Jeremy's desperate need to go drown himself.

"You know what. I just. Have a thing," Michael says, looking at a wall. "Yeah, class. Gotta go." 

"Cool, me too," Jeremy babbles to the floor. "See you at rehearsal." 

He realizes he's still holding Michael's hand, drops it like a hot potato, and runs away.

-

_What was that_ , is the only thought echoing in his head over and over as he sits through biology class. His world is off-kilter, gravity gone funny and his heart tumbling around from throat to stomach. He can’t even muster the brainpower to wonder if Veronica Lee is staring at him.

After what feels like eons of staring blankly at his textbook, he feels a hand clapping onto his shoulder, startling him out of his existential crisis.

“Congrats,” Jake says.

Jeremy stares, not quite back on planet earth. “Huh?”

“For not being stared to death by Veronica anymore?” Jake says, which at least answers that question. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy lies. “I’m okay.”

-

The weird, world-gone-sideways sensation doesn’t dissipate, even as he’s standing center-stage in the auditorium and reciting his monologue. Michael had been mostly back to his normal self—what the fuck is normal anyway, Jeremy wonders—when they’d walked to rehearsal with the others, joined hands swinging between them, and part of Jeremy finds that incredibly unfair. Michael hadn’t looked fazed at all when Erica dropped by for a photo, his arm thrown around Jeremy’s shoulders, a grin ready for the camera. Jeremy’d barely managed to smile properly. How is Michael able to smile and joke like that, like nothing’s changed? 

But then again, nothing’s really changed, has it?

“I heard you and Mell are dating,” Tiffany says after he moves backstage. Jeremy stiffens. He hadn’t noticed her approaching him. 

“Yeah, been a few days now,” Jeremy says. 

“Congratulations,” she says. She doesn’t say it mockingly or scathingly. Just in a matter-of-fact manner. “I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday so I didn’t tell you, but I think you two are a good match.”

So that’s why she hadn’t been at rehearsal yesterday. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

Tiffany peers around the curtain to look out into the auditorium. She chuckles and waves at somebody before stepping back, letting the curtain fall back in place. “Your boyfriend doesn’t like me,” she says. She must have been waving at Michael in the sound booth. “He’s very protective of you.”

“It’s been a rough week.” Jeremy’s stomach lurches a little again. _Boyfriend_. That word still unsettles him. 

“I bet.” She sounds amused. “Well, I’ll see you at Dillinger’s party later tonight?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Jeremy says. 

“Cool.” 

Christine shrieks from stage left, which is Jeremy’s cue. He runs onstage, forcing himself between Jake and Christine while Christine waves a prop gun in their faces. Gravity is still a little messed up in Jeremy’s head, but the adrenaline helps to ground him, to finish the scene and stand there, fake blood on his hands, looking out into the empty audience seats. He sees Michael in the sound booth, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and he tells himself, _nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed_.

He takes a deep breath and pretends he believes the mantra in his head. Smiles back.

-

Jeremy regrets coming to the party even before he’s fully through the front door. The two things that keep him from turning right back around and fleeing are the thought of Jake’s crushing disappointment and the fact that Michael is right behind him, and actually the idea of facing Michael is more terrifying than the party itself.

Michael had stayed in the auditorium because he was sorting issues out with the tech crew, waving off Jeremy’s offer to wait for him, so Jeremy’d bummed a ride home from Brooke. He’d crashed face-first onto his bed, wondering what the hell was wrong with him, and had fallen asleep like that, waking five minutes before Michael was due to pick him up for the party.

So Jeremy had hastily changed into his best jeans and a black teeshirt that Christine and Chloe had picked out for him during an impromptu shopping trip over spring break, then climbed into Michael’s car before the horn-blaring could start up again.

“Here.” Jeremy had shoved Michael’s hoodie back at him. “You should have this back. I know you prefer wearing this when there’s too many people.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Michael had said, but he’d gladly shucked off his sweater and pulled the hoodie on, sighing happily. “But thanks. I missed this.”

“Yeah well,” Jeremy’d said, his mouth moving faster than his still-groggy brain, “I might steal it back later. It smells like you.” Then he’d backtracked with, “I mean, it smells nice.”

Michael had blinked. “Um, okay, I guess?”

The rest of the twenty-minute drive had been excruciatingly silent, after that.

So now Jeremy’s in Jake’s living room, surrounded by people yelling and laughing, the thrumming beat of loud music reverberating in his bones, and none of this is enough to drown out the buzzing in his brain. He still can’t look Michael in the eye. It’s only eight in the evening of Friday and he is so _done_ with everything.

He needs to get drunk.

“Hey, what’s up, my dudes,” Rich says, both hands holding red solo cups and an enormous grin plastered over his face. He’s already looking a fair ways off from sober. “You guys need a drink.”

Jeremy takes a cup and downs it in a single go. 

“Holy shit,” Rich says, sounding impressed. “Someone is ready to party!”

“I totally am,” Jeremy says. Maybe if he gets shit-faced enough, he’ll forget everything weird about today, and maybe the world will upright itself. At the very least, if he’s drunk, he won’t care which way gravity decides to go anymore. 

“I’ll take it slow,” Michael says, accepting the other cup from Rich. “You guys go have fun.”

“You gonna be okay?” Rich asks. Jeremy wants to say he’ll stay with Michael, but he needs to get more drunk before he can look Michael in the eye again.

“Yeah well,” Michael says, pointing at Jenna and Christine waving at him from a sofa they’ve claimed for themselves, “I’ll be over there. You animals go do your thing.”

Jeremy feels a stab of guilt. Michael doesn’t even like these kinds of big parties, and abandoning him—even though he’s not going to be leaving Michael alone—makes him feel terrible. He wants to say something, but all he can manage is a mumbled, “I’ll be right back.”

Michael waves him off, so Jeremy follows Rich to where the booze is. He pours himself another cupful of beer and then starts gulping it down.

“Yo, everything okay?” Rich gives him a friendly punch to the shoulder. “You’re going harder tonight than usual.”

“Ugh, just,” Jeremy finishes the cup and starts pouring himself another. “This week was so insane. I think I’m going insane. I just really, really, really need to get drunk.”

Rich nods in understanding. “Yeah, you’ve gone from being chased by the ladies to dating your best bro. I’d get smashed, too.” 

“Rich, there you are,” Jake says from the kitchen doorway. “Hey Jeremy.” He comes in to give Rich a quick kiss on the cheek, then holds up a hand for Jeremy to high-five. “Whatcha guys talking about?”

“How my life is the world’s worst sitcom,” Jeremy says, high-fiving Jake before going for his third cup of beer.

“He’s super stressed,” Rich says, leaning back against Jake’s chest with a hum.

Jake ducks down for another quick kiss. “Where’s Michael?”

“In the living room with Jenna and Christine,” Jeremy says. He’s almost done with cup #3. He’s never drunk this much alcohol in ten minutes before. 

“I’ll go say hi,” Jake says, peeling himself away from Rich, then darting back for one more kiss before leaving. It’s sickeningly sweet, the way Jake looks unwilling to leave, the way Rich looks at the doorway even after Jake’s long gone. It makes the inside of Jeremy’s ribcage itch. 

“I think you guys are gonna win this year’s Power Couple yearbook award.”

Rich looks back at him, a pleased flush stealing over his face. “Yeah, we better. We’re the fucking best.” He gestures at Jeremy. “You two aren’t so bad, either.”

“But we’re,” Jeremy says, and then pauses to assess whether anybody else can hear him before continuing, “not really dating.”

“Meh.” Rich shrugs. “Still a super good duo, right?”

_Don’t say that_ , Jeremy wants to say. _You know this isn’t real, why are you erasing the line between reality and fiction, why make this more complicated, don’t do this_. He’s thinking of Tiffany congratulating his new relationship status. Of Erica, with stars in her eyes as she cooed over him and Michael. Of Michael, his hand warm in Jeremy’s as he said _I want him to smile like that all the damn time_.

He asks, “What do you love about him?”

“Uh, about Jake?” Rich goes pink. He seems to give the question serious thought when Jeremy nods. “Well, he’s super smart. And he’s not a douche about it? He never thinks I’m stupid, even when I am, and he doesn’t even seem to really know how genius he is.” His lisp is a lot more prominent, now. “He’s always up for doing crazy stuff, even though he’s smart enough to know better, but he trusts me, I guess. I mean, gah, he’s the hottest dude in the state of New Jersey and probably the smartest too, and somehow he thinks _I’m_ the amazing one.” Rich takes a gulp from a Smirnoff vodka bottle on the kitchen counter, his face and neck getting steadily pinker. “Fuck, he’s too good for me, you know?”

Jeremy thinks about Michael, who makes everything better, easier. Michael, who saves Jeremy from loneliness and crazy girls and the world, even when Jeremy doesn’t deserve it. He knows exactly what Rich means.

“I think he’d disagree with you,” Jeremy says. 

“He totally would,” Rich agrees. There’s an incandescently happy look on his face. “He fucking loves me. Dunno how or why, but he does.”

_Lucky you_ , Jeremy thinks. He downs his fourth cup of beer instead.

-

He doesn’t know how long he’s been at the party now, but he’s pleasantly drunk, everything blurry and warm. He’s on the sofa wedged between Michael and Chloe, nursing a cup of beer in his hands while everybody chatters away. He’d bumped into Madeline, earlier, and she’d gone flustered, rambling about how nice he looked today, before Chloe had glared at her into fleeing. Otherwise, no girls trying to touch him, or corner him, or trying to do anything to his virginity. Thank god.

“Don’t thank god for your virginity, you loser,” Chloe says into his ear. He wasn’t aware he was talking out loud. “And why are you leaning on me, go lean on your boyfriend.”

“He’s not,” Jeremy mumbles.

“Don’t blow your cover,” Chloe warns him in a quiet voice. “Do as I say. Christine and I picked this shirt for you to look good in it, and there are at least three other girls in this room staring at you because it's working too well. Cuddle Michael so that they don’t think you’re up for snuggling up to a girl.”

“But you’re a lesbian.”

“Oh my god, you’re too drunk,” Chloe says, and shoves him off so that he’s crashing back into Michael, interrupting his conversation with Brooke. Jeremy makes a wounded noise. “Stop whining.”

Michael tugs on Jeremy’s shoulder so that Jeremy can slump sideways and bury his face in Michael’s neck. “You okay?” he asks in a low voice.

“Chloe’s being mean to me,” Jeremy whines.

Brooke laughs at him, which is also mean of her. But she pets his hair, which is nice, so Jeremy forgives her. “Aw, maybe you should take him home?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Jeremy closes his eyes, basking in the familiarity of the hoodie’s soft fabric and the scent of cinnamon. It’s stronger, now that Michael’s the one wearing it, and there’s a hint of vanilla and sweat. It’s nice.

“I think he’s falling asleep,” Jenna’s voice says.

“Yeah, time to go home.” Michael shakes Jeremy gently, coaxing his eyes open. “Hey, Jeremy, stay awake. You can sleep after I drive you home, babe.” 

Jeremy tries to turn his face back into the safety of Michael’s throat. “But I’m sleepy.” Then his brain mumbles something. “Did you just repeat a nickname?”

“No,” Michael says, pushing Jeremy off, which should be against his boyfriend duties. “I called you baby once, but babe is a different word. Doesn’t count.”

“You actually keep track of everything you’ve called me?” That's weirdly sweet. Doesn't bode well for Jeremy winning that bet, though.

“Oh my god, go home, you two,” Chloe says.

“Okay, here we go.” Michael stands up and confiscates the cup of beer. Then he takes Jeremy’s hands, pulling him upwards into a standing position. “Let’s go, sleepy beauty.”

As they slowly walk towards the front door, Jake appears with Rich in tow. They were probably making out, going by the hickeys on Jake’s neck and the way Rich’s hair is all mussed. Chloe wolf-whistles at them, at which Jake cheerfully flips her off. “You guys leaving?” Jake asks.

“Yeah, he’s really out of it,” Michael says, an arm snaking around Jeremy’s when Jeremy lurches a little. His sense of balance has gone slightly hazy.

“He drank more than I did,” Rich testifies.

“Get back safely,” Jake says.

“We will.” 

Michael waves his goodbyes to their friends while Jeremy sleepily nods at them before stumbling after Michael through the front door. It’s dark outside, quiet except for the sound of laughter and music still coming from inside Jake’s house. Quiet, without the buzzing in Jeremy’s brain. It’s a little chilly outside, making Jeremy shiver, because he was an idiot and forgot to bring a cardigan. 

“You’re cold, aren’t you,” Michael says. “Wait a sec.” He lets go of Jeremy’s arm, which Jeremy’s about to protest, when Michael tugs his hoodie off over his head in a single smooth move, then holds it out to him. “Wear this.”

“But,” Jeremy says. He doesn’t have any words after that.

“You’re cold. I’m not.” Michael holds the hoodie out for a few more seconds, then sighs and steps close, forcing the hoodie over Jeremy’s head. “C’mon, I don’t want you catching pneumonia or tuberculosis or shit. Now put your arms through.”

As Michael’s tugging the hem down so Jeremy’s properly dressed, Jeremy feels his warm fingertips skimming his waist through the thin shirt he’s wearing. He can smell Michael all around him, cinnamon and vanilla. He can hear Michael humming a tune Jeremy doesn’t quite recognize, the warm cadence of Michael’s voice saying, “There we go, _irog_.”

And he can see the dark curls of Michael’s hair under the starlight, his soft eyes and the quirk of his smile. He sees and feels and _knows_ , and he thinks _oh, of course_.

“Jeremy?”

It all makes sense now. 

“Michael,” Jeremy says and smiles, iridescently happy with the revelation unfolding through him. He holds Michael’s face with both hands, heart full of marvel. The world is uprighting itself, gravity corrected and planet earth back on its axis. Michael’s eyes go wide, a choked noise catching in his throat. “Michael, it’s you.”

“What?” Michael asks.

“It’s you,” Jeremy repeats, beaming. “Michael.”

“Of course I’m me,” Michael chokes out. “Jesus, you’re so drunk.” He takes Jeremy by the wrists and starts pulling him to the car, which is a shame because Jeremy wanted to look at him some more. 

Michael’s managed to push Jeremy into his seat before heaving himself into the driver’s seat, hands shaking a little as he leans over to do Jeremy’s seatbelt. Jeremy enjoys the closeup view of Michael’s eyelashes, the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his jawline. He leans a little closer to bask in the proximity, but Michael clicks the seatbelt together and then goes back to do his own. He’s too far away, which is unacceptable, so Jeremy reaches over to pet Michael’s thigh.

“ _What the shit_ ,” Michael says in a strained voice, freezing midway through turning the key in the ignition. “Jeremy, what are you doing?”

“You’re too far away,” Jeremy says.

“Oh my god.” Michael slams his head on the steering wheel, emitting a low, sad beep from the car. He stays like that for a while. “Are you just. Gonna leave your hand there.”

“Yep,” Jeremy says.

Michael swears in what sounds like a combination of English, Filipino, and Spanish. He lifts his head and turns the key in the ignition with grim resolution. “Fucking hell. _Mahal_ , you’re going to be the death of me.”

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking menace,” Michael says. “If you’re not gonna take your hand off me, then don’t move it at all. We don’t need to get in a car crash to top this week off. Understood?”

“Okay,” Jeremy says. He keeps his hand on Michael’s thigh for the entire drive home. He’s pretty sure Michael swears at him the whole time.

-

Jeremy wakes up in his bed feeling like he just survived a car crash. He blinks blearily at his bedroom ceiling, brain rebooting itself like the slowest Windows update of all time. His brain has zero memories from last night. 

For about thirty seconds.

Then everything comes back, from drinking beer in Jake’s kitchen to dancing sloppily with Christine in the backyard to Michael offering him his hoodie in the dark of the night.

He remembers realizing _oh, of course, it’s you_. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Jeremy says to his ceiling. He’s in love with Michael. He’s in love with his best friend, who is currently his fake boyfriend. He’s completely head over heels. He’s, he’s—

He’s completely fucked.

Jeremy turns to muffle a scream into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I solemnly apologize to george salazar and fandom for the blasphemy that is michael failing to sing along to t swift. in my defense michael would probably hit all the high notes and then some if he were actually putting in the effort!! 
> 
> also if I have made any mistakes with Filipino stuff pls let me know, I Know Nothing about this lovely language and I am terrified of slaughtering it (I mean, I keep it to a minimum for a reason!! to save my skin!!). all the filipino endearments by Michael should be variations of 'beloved/(my) love'
> 
> EDIT: yes I'm aware that tagalog is the main language of the philippines. michael is a tagalog boy bc it's easier for me that way. Jeremy 'white teenage boy who never left the usa before' Heere isn't aware of this, so it's all dubbed as filipino in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has gone up! Proceed at your own risk.

“You okay, son?” Jeremy’s dad looks mildly bemused by how hard Jeremy is trying to act like he’s not as hungover as he really is. Jeremy’s attempting to shovel food in his mouth, but he can barely sit upright. It’s probably an apt summary for the mess his life has become. 

“I’m good,” Jeremy croaks. He takes another bite out of his toast to prove his point.

His dad chuckles. “Alright.” 

They eat lunch in silence, Jeremy nibbling on his toast while his dad eats scrambled eggs. It’s peaceful, save for the terrible truth singing at top volume in Jeremy’s head, _you love Michael! This is a disaster! You’re an idiot!_

He must’ve zoned out, because his dad is saying, “Jeremy, did you hear what I just said?”

“No, sorry. What did you say?”

Jeremy’s dad pushes a glass of water towards Jeremy with a patient sigh. “I said, I’m going to a conference in Manhattan tomorrow, so I won’t be here to cook for you. I’ll leave some cash for you on the coffee table before I leave, so make sure you don’t skip your meals. I don’t know if I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Oh, okay,” Jeremy says. “Work conference on a Sunday? That sucks.”

“At least I get to work from home for most of the week,” his dad says. “Enjoy having the house to yourself for the day.”

“Won’t really have it to myself; Michael’s coming over.” He actually wishes his dad would stay home so he won’t be alone with his newly discovered feelings and Michael. It’s a terrifying prospect. 

Jeremy’s dad finishes scraping his plate clean, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Well, just make sure you both use safety, alright?”

“Huh?”

“I trust you two,” Jeremy’s dad says. “But please use condoms.”

Jeremy spits his toast out. “ _Dad_ ,” he yelps.

“Safe sex is important,” his dad continues, unaware of his only son dying of mortification right across from him. “I’ll text you ahead of time before I get home, so don’t worry about making noise—”

“Please stop,” Jeremy begs.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Jeremy.”

“Michael and I aren’t—we don’t,” Jeremy splutters, “It’s not like that!”

His dad gives him a look that says _sure, I’ll go along with it for the sake of your dignity_. “Alright, son. Just remember: safety comes first.”

Jeremy face-plants onto the dining table and screeches. 

-

He spends the rest of Saturday in a daze, barely able to focus on his homework. He tries to solve quadratic equations and his brain says _3x²+10-25 equals you’re in love with your best friend_. He switches over to French homework and his brain translates _j'ai vraiment besoin d'aide_ into _you’re so fucking doomed_. He flips his history textbook open to study for an upcoming exam and his brain supplies him with _in 1923 your dad thought you’re having sex with Michael, who is not even your real boyfriend_. 

Jeremy throws the textbook across his room.

“Why is this happening to me,” he complains at the ceiling from where he’s spread-eagled across his bed covers. He turns his head to where Michael’s hoodie is folded neatly on his dresser next to the bed, and wonders how he’s going to face his best friend of twelve-and-a-half years tomorrow. Maybe he should call Michael and cancel, citing sickness or some emergency. Except, Michael would probably get worried and come over anyway, which would defeat the purpose of lying to keep Michael away in the first place. Because that’s just how Michael is. Always trying to take care of Jeremy. Protecting Jeremy. Dating Jeremy for the sake of the greater good.

_And now you're in love with him_ , his brain reminds him.

Only three days ago this was just a sham, an elaborate lie to make Jeremy’s life easier, but now his life is infinitely more complicated because he wants it to be true. He wants Michael to hold his hand not for show but for real, wants Michael to stake a claim on him for the rest of his life. He wants Michael to love him back.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Jeremy berates himself. He can’t believe he’s so stupid.

Last night, he’d wanted Michael to kiss him. He still wants Michael to kiss him. He wants Michael to kiss him, and touch him, and—

“Fuck,” Jeremy groans. He’s hard. Yeah, he’s gay for his fake boyfriend. He wants to die.

He rolls over to his side, trying to will his boner away by thinking of what to eat tomorrow. Pizza. Pizza sounds nice. Michael, folding his pizza in half to eat it, licking the grease off his fingertips—

No, stop that train of thought. Think of anti-boner material. Biology class. Intestines. The reproductive system. Michael getting his hands on Jeremy’s reproductive system—

“Why am I like this,” Jeremy groans, covering his face and hating his libido more than ever.

Maybe he just needs to jerk off, get it out of his system. Maybe his feelings for Michael are just his hormones gone crazy. Yeah, maybe Jeremy’s dick is the problem here, not his heart.

He palms himself through his pants and hisses in pleasure. He hasn’t masturbated since spring break, so it feels nice and welcome, the frisson of heat running through his nervous system. The idea of jerking off his feelings through his dick sounds like a good idea now.

Jeremy shoves his sweatpants and boxers down to mid-thigh, rolling over to lay flat on his back again as he closes a fist over his cock and and strokes from base to tip, slow and firm. Another jolt of pleasure goes through him, shocking a whimper out of him, and he has to grit his teeth to stay quiet as he jerks himself off, steady with more pressure around the head.

And fuck, wouldn’t it be nice if Michael were to touch him like this, if Michael could ruck Jeremy’s shirt up and rub his nipples, teasing Jeremy in that honeyed voice of his, _look at you, Jer_. If Michael could just wrap a helping hand around Jeremy’s dripping dick, kiss his way down Jeremy’s throat, leave his mark so everybody would know who Jeremy belonged to.

He thumbs his slit and his whole body twists at the sensation that ricochets up his spine, and his eyes alight on the bright red of Michael’s hoodie. He stares at it, torn. 

It’s a fucking terrible idea. 

But jerking off to the thought of Michael’s hands and mouth on him is also a terrible idea, so.

With the wild, slightly unhinged rationalization that happens a lot when logic is consumed by lust, Jeremy struggles halfway up to lean over and snatch the hoodie off the dresser, collapsing back onto his covers with his face buried in the soft fabric. The smell is what really gets him going, that maddening scent of cinnamon and whisper of vanilla, and it’s almost like Michael is right here, like he’s holding Jeremy down and kissing Jeremy soft and easy, stroking Jeremy with a firm hand, soothing Jeremy’s desperate, muffled sounds with sweet words and his touch. 

Jeremy’s panting now, getting close. He wonders what Michael would look like with his mouth around Jeremy’s cock, with fingers kneading Jeremy’s thighs, trailing up and inwards and _inside_. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, because now that he’s thought of it he wants it so badly, Michael’s fingers inside him, stretching him open, maybe getting him ready for Michael’s cock, _fuck_ , Jeremy wants that. He’s too close to the edge to stop and fetch lube now, so he lets go of the hoodie and starts sucking on two fingers from the hand not pumping his cock, licking them and coating them with spit before hastily shoving his hand down behind him.

Shoving in one spit-slick finger without any other prep isn’t as painful as he thought it might be—he’s only fingered himself twice so far, and both times he’d taken it slow, wary of pain—but it feels off-putting enough to dampen the urgent need curling in his gut, allows him to stroke his dick a little more slowly. He’s gasping with his face half-buried in Michael’s hoodie, pumping a finger in and out of his ass before he can muster the nerve to add another. The second finger stings, but it isn’t painful enough to be a turn-off.

“Oh god.” Jeremy has to bite down on an incredibly undignified whine when he finally manages to push his fingers in and curl them just right, sending a shockwave of sheer pleasure right through him. He’s shaking, one hand pumping his cock fast and hard, the other hand trying to reach that sweet spot inside of him one more time. 

The second time his fingertips brush his prostate, he chokes out a low whine and comes all over his hand, spilling a few drops on his blanket, too. He strokes himself lightly a few more times, enjoying the pleasant aftershocks before he has to stop, oversensitivity settling in. He slumps back on his bed staring at the ceiling as the post-orgasm bliss slowly fades away, leaving the clammy, awful sensation of reality to settle in.

Jeremy just jerked off to the thought of Michael. Even worse, he used Michael’s hoodie to do it. Like those closet perverts who sniff used underwear or whatever. He feels dirty.

He can’t wash off that awful, filthy feeling, even after thirty minutes standing under scalding hot water in the shower. He puts Michael’s hoodie in the washing machine, because he feels like he’s sullied it, and there’s an irrational fear in him that Michael will take one whiff of the hoodie and _know_ that Jeremy’s used it as jerk-off fodder. That Jeremy just got off on the scent of his best friend. That Jeremy is in love with his best friend, like the pathetic moron he is. 

He’s terrified that Michael will be disgusted with him.

Back in his room, under the covers, Jeremy feels small and pathetic. Unclean. Undeserving of Michael, who’s doing so much to keep Jeremy safe. Michael, who doesn’t even love Jeremy back anyway.

In the silent darkness, Jeremy pulls his blanket over his head and cries himself to sleep.

-

“You washed it?" Michael asks, sniffing his hoodie, and Jeremy's dick gives a reflexive twitch that has him almost crashing face-first into his bookshelf. "You didn't have to."

"I felt like I left a booze smell on it, so I felt bad," Jeremy lies, making sure he's not facing Michael. He pulls out Mario Kart from his games shelf with a trembling hand, desperate not to give away his masturbation sins or his feelings. "No biggie."

He takes a slow breath. Inhale, exhale. Nothing has changed. This is his best friend, here to play video games and laze away the Sunday afternoon. This is Michael. 

Inhale. _Don't make it weird_. Exhale. _Don't make him leave you_.

Jeremy turns around with a grin that feels like plastic on his face. "First person to win three rounds gets to pick pizza toppings."

"Oh, you're on," Michael says, and Jeremy smothers the yearning inside of him, takes a step forward.

-

Later, after they've gone through video games and an episode of Star Trek and an entire pepperoni pizza—Jeremy doesn't even like pepperoni, and Michael knows it, the bastard—they’re clicking through funny Youtube videos when Jeremy's phone buzzes.

"Berry-crunch, you got a text," Michael says. He's resorted to what sounds like a bunch of cereal names in lieu of real nicknames. "It's your dad."

"What does it say?" Jeremy asks, too focused on trying to shove his laptop's adaptor plug into the socket behind his bed to realize what the text is probably about.

“'Home in twenty minutes. Will honk at driveway,’" Michael recites. "Since when does your dad notify you when he's due back home?"

Laptop plugged in, Jeremy turns to Michael, non-plussed, until yesterday's conversation with his dad replays through his brain at triple speed. He screeches and slaps both hands over his face, feeling his whole body go hot with mortification. "Nothing! It's nothing, oh my god."

"Uh, obviously not. What's going on?" Michael sounds a little amused, mostly curious.

Fuck, there's absolutely no way to go around this. 

"He thinks," Jeremy says, keeping his face buried in his hands and hating the entire universe, "that we're, um." He rushes the last two words as fast as he can. "Having sex."

Michael makes a sound like a dying animal. " _What_."

"I don't know why he thinks that," Jeremy wails, "I mean, he thinks we're boyfriends, okay, but he's my _dad_ , he's supposed to believe that we only hold hands and stuff. We don't do anything to suggest we've been doing, gah, _things_."

"Oh Jesus mcfuckin' Christ," Michael says. He sounds like someone just gut-punched him. "Mr. Heere thinks I'm screwing you?" 

Jeremy screeches at a pitch that he didn't know he could hit. The musical's orchestra conductor would shed a tear of pride. "Oh my god why are you saying that, don't say that, this conversation never happened. My dad is never allowed to think anything about my sex life, ever." Then his brain snags on a specific part of what Michael just said and he can't help but lift his head to look at him and demand, "Wait a minute, why are you the one screwing me in this hypothetical scenario?"

Michael's jaw drops, his ears tinged red. "Really? That's the part you wanna talk about?"

"There's nothing else to talk about!" Jeremy hisses. "And why am I the bottom? That's not fair."

"You know that there's nothing inferior about being the bottom, right?” Michael’s incredulous expression expresses his disbelief that he just said those words out loud. “It’s not a bad thing!”

Jeremy is uncomfortably aware of how badly he would like to bottom for Michael, thank you very much. But his brain has latched onto this tiny detail in a panic because he can't let Michael know that his dick is even remotely interested in this discussion, nope. "I know that, but I can't believe you automatically assigned me that position without asking me. Dude, are you typecasting me?" Jeremy isn't even sure if he's making any sense at this point.

Michael looks like he's regretting every word of this conversation. Jeremy empathizes acutely. "I don't even—dude, what’s so bad about you being the bottom?”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing!” Jeremy yells. “I’m just saying that it’s kinda selfish of you to assume you’d be on top!”

“Argh, fine, I’ll bottom for you, okay? Satisfied?!” Michael yells back.

His words seem to echo in the ensuing bewildered silence. They stare at each other, chests heaving.

“Did you really just,” Jeremy starts.

"I did," Michael says.

Then they both simultaneously collapse into helpless laughter. Jeremy laughs so hard he starts flailing, trying to breathe, and Michael is crying from laughter as he crawls over to thump Jeremy’s back, coaxing him back into a regular breathing pattern again.

“Oh man,” Michael chortles, wiping away a stray tear and leaning against Jeremy’s shoulder. “That was fucking hilarious.” He pokes Jeremy in the ribs, eliciting another giggle, which makes Jeremy’s stomach hurt. “You happy with our fake sex life now, honey bear?”

He slaps Michael’s finger away. “Ugh, we’ll take turns, whatever.” He strangles his imagination to prevent wayward boners from that idea. “You realize you’re just using different combinations of words that you already used for the nicknames, right?”

Michael shrugs, leaning against Jeremy’s side, and Jeremy’s traitorous dick twitches in his pants. “They’re still different. And the time limit’s almost up.”

Jeremy checks the time and swears, because it’s four minutes before seven o’clock, which is the agreed deadline for their bet. 

There’s a sinking sensation in his stomach. How is he going to ask Michael out to prom in public without giving his feelings away? Or maybe it won’t matter? Maybe he’ll just look realistic to strangers and a great actor to his friends. God, Michael asking Jeremy out to prom in public won’t be any easier on Jeremy’s heart. Fuck. He’s so screwed. 

Desperate, Jeremy suggests, “Lightning round? We take turns calling each other different stuff?”

Michael squints at him. “Now you’re just grasping at straws.”

“Maybe I am,” Jeremy says, cogs in his brain turning. He’s been Michael Mell’s best friend for twelve years. He knows where his buttons are. “But it’d be fun to see if you can still win, right?” It’s not like Jeremy’s got much to lose at this point. “I mean, if you’d rather take the easy way out, that’s cool.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Michael warns. Too bad that Jeremy knows him too well. “But fuck it, why not. Let’s do this.”

“I knew you’d warm up to the idea, buttercup,” Jeremy deadpans.

Michael sets up his phone so that they can see the clock ticking. Three minutes to go. “Awww, angel face, I didn’t know you loved me so much.”

Oh fucking hell, Jeremy's heart just skipped a beat. “Sweet talk me some more, Mikey.”

“Oh hey, not cool,” Michael huffs, nudging Jeremy with an elbow. The whole line of Michael’s side against his burns hot under Jeremy’s skin, like he’s on fire, and god, this is such a terrible idea. “You’re supposed to call me something nice, peaches.”

Jeremy gives him a flat look. “You’re just calling me food names.”

“Well, maybe I just want to eat you up, lollipop,” Michael says, scrunching his nose like he’s very aware of what a shitty nickname he just attempted. 

Unfortunately, Jeremy’s dick gets the wrong idea at the imagery of Michael and phallic snacks. Panicked, Jeremy pitches forward with a screech and actually hits his forehead against the corner of his open laptop, which thankfully shocks the beginnings of a boner away in a flash. It hurts like a bitch, though, so he clutches his face and whines, “Oh my god, what the hell?”

Michael rubs a hand over Jeremy’s back, looking both concerned and bemused. His ears are red. “Wow, I wasn’t aware that you were that offended by my nicknames.”

Jeremy suppresses a shudder at Michael’s touch. It’s nice. Almost worth stabbing his face with his laptop. He curls to the side so that he’s half on Michael’s lap, facing away from him. He can’t help wanting to get _closer_. “Your nicknames are shitty. Can’t even call me something like darling or sweetheart like normal people.”

Michael laughs. There’s something off about the sound of it, though. “Right. That’s more to your taste, huh? Darling,” he says, low and sweet, and Jeremy stares at his laptop screen, his breath knocked out of him. “Sweetheart.” The hand on his back moves up to the back of Jeremy’s neck, squeezing soothingly. “Beautiful.” Fingers press into Jeremy’s nape, playing with the short hairs there before threading upward through his curls. “Dearest,” Michael’s voice croons, fingers brushing through Jeremy’s hair, and there’s a lump in Jeremy’s throat, an urge inside him that wants to turn around and curl up into Michael, to wind his arms around Michael’s waist and say _yours, yours, yours_. The urge balloons inside of his chest and pushes into his stomach, bleeds into his limbs and spreads to his toes and fingertips. He can hardly breathe from how much he _wants_ Michael to mean this, all of this.

It hurts.

“Game over,” Jeremy says softly.

Michael freezes. “What?”

Jeremy crushes the urge inside of him, breaks it apart into tiny, tiny pieces and grinds it into dust under his heels. He lifts his upper body so that he’s sitting up again, cold from the loss of contact, and taps Michael’s phone next to his laptop. It’s seven o’clock. “You win.”

“Oh, huh, look at that,” Michael says blankly.

Jeremy feels fragile, like he could shatter apart any second. He takes a fortifying breath and turns halfway to Michael. “Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a sec.”

Michael doesn’t look at him, still staring at the time. He looks tired. “Yeah, sure.”

It’s only after he’s safely closed the bathroom door behind him that Jeremy’s folding into himself on the tiled floor, gripping the toilet seat with white-knuckled, shaking hands. His bones ache with longing and he hurts all over, his throat too tight and his stomach in tangles. He touches his forehead to his knees and clenches his eyes shut, tries to will the tears away. 

-

He’s saved from explaining what the hell took him so long in the bathroom by his dad pulling in and beeping once in the driveway, which is reminder enough for the tension to dissolve. They snicker together for a minute, say hi to his dad, and settle back to watch more videos on Youtube before Michael has to leave. 

In the comfort of his room, slumped into Michael's shoulder as they sit against the bed and feeling Michael's fingers absentmindedly trace the Pac-man tattoo on Jeremy's forearm, Jeremy thinks that he can live with this. This is enough.

-

"I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Michael asks as they loiter outside the front door. 

"Yes, please," Jeremy says. The sky is still lit up in pink and fading orange in the immediate aftermath of the sunset, darkness edging in slowly. Only two days ago, Jeremy's entire world had reassembled itself as he stood opposite of Michael outside a different front door. It feels like a lifetime ago, the giddiness and the iridescent joy. Here, all Jeremy can feel is weary resignation and a bittersweet ache.

Michael smiles, hesitant. "Hey."

"Huh?"

"I didn't mean to make shit weird, you know. With the nickname stuff." He scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just trying to be funny."

Jeremy didn't know he could feel hot and cold at the same time. Hot with the memory of Michael's voice, his fingers stroking through Jeremy's hair. Cold at Michael's words right now. 

Of course Michael was joking. It's not like those words could have been meant any other way. "Dude, it's cool. I wasn't uncomfortable. I just had too much pizza, you know?" He watches Michael's face go slack with relief and feels his own stomach twist. "And if anybody would be uncomfortable, it's you. You're the one who's gonna still be dating my sorry ass when we go back to school this week." 

Michael frowns and flicks Jeremy's forehead. "Hey, don't make it sound like dating you is some terrible hardship." His tone gentles. "I'm happy to do this for your sake, okay? You're my best friend, and I'd do anything for you."

It terrifies Jeremy, how badly he wants to hold Michael to those words. To ask him for everything, to take and take and _take_.

"You know I'd do the same for you, right?" Jeremy asks. It's the closest he'll ever get to telling Michael just how much he aches for him.

Michael smiles, just a bit crooked, looking a little more tired than usual. Older, even. In moments like these Jeremy doesn't know him how to read him at all. "I know you would, Jer. I know."

"I'm serious," Jeremy says. He decides to lighten things up a bit. "But I can't help you with math. That's where I draw the line." 

That startles a laugh out of Michael. "Pudding, if I ever ask you for math help, we're all truly screwed."

"Shut up," Jeremy says, grinning nonetheless. 

"My boyfriend, willing to do anything but math," Michael teases. His eyes flicker to the side, and his expression shifts, growing serious as he takes a half-step forward. He lowers his voice into a murmur. "Your dad's watching us."

Jeremy instinctively tries to turn and check, but Michael is faster, catching his face with one hand, then sliding it down to cradle Jeremy's jaw, forcing him to keep his eyes on Michael. "What," Jeremy says, managing to keep his voice a whisper, "the hell is he watching us for?"

"I have an idea." Michael inches forward, too close, and Jeremy feels his face grow hot, because he thinks he knows what that idea is. "Don't freak out."

Slowly, telegraphing his movements clearly so that Jeremy sees it coming, Michael leans forward, pressing his lips to Jeremy's cheek. Jeremy can feel Michael's breath against his skin, the press of Michael's fingertips against his cheekbone, the softness of Michael's lips. The world slows to a stop, silent and motionless, and Jeremy feels his heart stop with it.

Then suddenly the world is moving again, his heartbeat too loud in his ears, his skin too tight, his blood too hot. Michael steps away, faintly red but mostly looking determined to not give away the act, and Jeremy clenches his fingers so that they don't grab Michael and haul him back. 

"Good night," Michael says, voice gone low in a way that makes Jeremy want to shiver. "See you tomorrow."

"See you," Jeremy echoes. It's all he can manage. 

After Michael leaves and Jeremy's done staring after him, he opens the front door with numb fingers and goes back inside, shutting it behind him. He leans back against the door and slowly slides down to the floor, staring at nothing in particular.

“You’re good for each other," his dad says from the kitchen. "I'm glad for you, son."

Jeremy can't muster a coherent response. He's too busy trying to remember how to walk again, how to breathe, how to live without wanting to throw himself at Michael and kiss him every second of the day.

His dad comes out with a mug in his hands and looks down at Jeremy fondly. He takes a sip from the mug and comments, "You really like him, don't you."

"Oh god," Jeremy says, voice breaking as he covers his face with his hands, "I really do."

-

Miraculously, nothing changes. Michael sends him a morning text before pulling up outside the driveway with his shameless horn-blaring, they spend the drive to school not talking about yesterday and instead discussing upcoming dress rehearsals, they walk into school hand-in-hand, and they say hi to their friends. They split up to go to their respective classes, occasionally managing to brush past each other with a quick word or two between periods, and nobody notices that Jeremy is utterly in love with his fake boyfriend. 

In retrospect, Jeremy realizes, not much has really changed. He's been in love with Michael for a lot longer than the past week, now that he really thinks about it. He may have only figured it out now, but the warmth that fills his chest whenever Michael laughs? The fluttering in his stomach every time Michael leans in close? They’ve been there for a long time. He doesn't know since when exactly, but he thinks he might have loved Michael before he dated Christine. Probably before he even dated Brooke, too.

So the feelings aren’t new; his keen awareness of them _is_. 

“Hey, do you have the names of everybody in the archery club?” Michael asks in yearbook, distracting Jeremy from wrestling with the godforsaken pdf converter on his computer. 

“Yeah, uh, here you go.” Jeremy hands him a printout of the members list, relishing the brush of their fingers. “Need any help?”

Michael beckons him over, so Jeremy slides his chair next to Michael’s and looks at the archery club page that Michael’s working on. He doesn’t recognize a third of the people in the group photo, but Jake’s smile is unmissable amidst the half-familiar faces. “I feel like we should try squeezing in a couple more photos of them in action,” Michael mutters, slinging an arm around Jeremy’s neck and dragging him close. Jeremy’s heart valiantly attempts to jump its way out of his ribcage. “It just looks so boring.”

“Carrie doesn’t want the page to look too cluttered,” Jeremy says, and it’s a miracle his voice doesn’t shake. He ignores the heat crawling under his skin and lets himself tip his head onto Michael’s shoulder, because that’s normal. Please let it look normal. “Maybe if we made this photo larger?” He asks, pointing at one of the corner photos.

“I don’t know,” Michael says, humming in consideration. Jeremy can feel the vibrations right through Michael’s hoodie, which sends a thunderclap of lust down his spine. He almost jerks away. Instead, he just tenses up, which Michael notices. “You okay there, Jer?”

Jeremy swallows, mentally telling his libido to _calm the fuck down_. “I just, uh.” He latches onto the first plausible excuse that he can think of. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

He grabs a hall pass from Ms. Filipski and practically runs to the bathroom, trying not to look like a desperate teenager hiding a boner and probably succeeding at looking like a desperate teenager with bladder issues instead. He locks himself into a bathroom stall and drops his forehead against the door with a groan. 

He needs to chill the fuck out. Stop reacting to every touch and sound. Everything can stay normal as long as Jeremy stops being so _aware_ of Michael all the time.

“Gah, I am not jerking off in school,” Jeremy mutters to himself, hitting his head against the stall door one more time to convince his half-hard dick that it’s just not going to happen. It takes him a couple minutes, but it works.

He takes a quick piss while he’s there and washes his hands, feeling back to normal and ready to go back to working with Michael, when he opens steps into the hallway and finds Emma standing opposite of the bathroom door, leaning against the wall.

“Jeremy,” she says, arms folded and looking a lot like a cobra about to strike. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Jeremy fights the instinctive urge to duck back into the bathroom. She wouldn’t pull a Hannah Brown on him, would she? “Emma. This is, um, a coincidence?” There’s no way she could have known he was here, in the middle of the period. “Don’t you have class?”

“Study hall,” she says airily. “I saw you walk by the classroom and thought I might as well say hi.”

“Okay, well. I gotta go back to class, so.” He waves his hall pass. “Nice seeing you.”

“Of course,” she says, smiling, not moving an inch to come closer. 

Taking this as his cue to leave, Jeremy turns the other way and starts to rush back towards the safety of the computer lab, but then he’s stopped by the voice behind him.

“You know, you could have just said no.” 

Jeremy turns around, uncertain. “Uh, what?”

Emma’s smile doesn’t fade. It’s placid, and it makes Jeremy feel a lot like he’s being played with. “I’m simply a little disappointed that you jumped to getting yourself a guard puppy instead of using your words like a big boy.” She pushes away from the wall. “I mean, he’s a very cute puppy.” She walks up to him slowly, arms still folded in front of her chest, and there’s no aggressiveness there, but Jeremy feels trapped all the same. “But he’s just being a good friend,” she says. “He has no clue at all that you’re in this for real, does he?”

All the oxygen is gone from Jeremy’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. His blood is ice in his veins and he wants to run. 

“What,” he chokes out, dizzy from the clanging in his head.

“Don't worry. I won't tell anybody, least of all your pretend boyfriend. But for what it’s worth,” Emma says, walking right past him, “I hope he doesn’t break your heart too badly.”

Jeremy stays rooted to the spot, trying to remember how to breathe, barely able to hear the sound of her footsteps fading over the alarms blaring in his brain. He shakily drags in a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs until they nearly burst, counting the seconds between inhale and exhale.

After he finally regains a normal breathing pattern, he starts the slow trek back to the lab, back to Michael. Emma’s words echo in his ears. _He’s just being a good friend_.

He focuses on his breathing. Focuses on not letting anything show on his face. Focuses on being Jeremy Heere, Michael’s best friend. 

He opens the door to the lab.

“Dude, what took you so long?” Michael asks, teasing tone falling short when he gets a good look at Jeremy’s face. “Jer? You okay?”

_He has no clue at all that you’re in this for real, does he_.

Inhale. 

Exhale.

“Stomach hurts a lot, is all,” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to tell Michael about Emma. Jeremy can’t let him know what she said.

He walks in and sinks into his chair, slumping over onto Michael’s shoulder and burying his face into the hoodie. He flashes back to Saturday, the dirty feeling coming back, and he doesn't let himself cry.

_I hope he doesn’t break your heart too badly_.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Michael fusses over him for the rest of the day, heckling Jeremy into paying a visit to the nurse after the period ends and then later giving Jeremy all the good parts of his lunch. Jeremy pretends that his fake stomach bug from yesterday is the problem, trying to deflect Michael’s concern but helplessly basking in it all the same. Their friends good-naturedly tease Michael for being such a protective boyfriend, which makes Jeremy’s chest ache, but he doesn’t let it show.

He doesn’t see Emma again, which is a small blessing.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home and rest?" Michael asks for the third time.

Jeremy chuckles, squeezing Michael's hand. "Michael, the show is this weekend. I can't miss rehearsal."

They're in front of the boys' dressing room, Michael dragging his feet when he should be going up to the sound booth, and Jeremy can hear the sound of Jake begging for mercy from the makeup crew and their hair gel. It's as normal as it gets, in the week leading up to opening night. 

Tiffany leans out from the girls' dressing room and yells, "Valentine, give me a hand with my eye makeup." 

Chloe, who's the lead makeup artist, pops her head out and yells back, "Gimme a minute!" She levels a glare at Jeremy that has him inching closer to Michael. "You, hurry up and say goodbye to your boyfriend. I need to make you stop glowing stupidly under the lights."

"Excuse you, my stud muffin glows just fine," Michael says, grinning.

"Gross," Chloe says, and disappears back into the dressing room to yell at Jake.

"She's right, you two are gross," Tiffany says, still leaning out into the hallway. She laughs when Michael makes a face at her. "Stop coddling your boyfriend and let him get changed. He'll be fine."

Jeremy reassures Michael again. "I feel fine now. I'll tell Mr. Reyes if I feel sick, okay?"

Looking unconvinced, Michael purses his lips and leans in to brush away the hair on Jeremy's forehead. Jeremy doesn't let his breath hitch. "Fine. Promise?"

"Promise."

The fingers move from his temple to the back of his neck, curling around his nape and dragging his head down, and then there are warm lips pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. Jeremy is dizzy with the smell of cinnamon as Michael releases him, barely able to process him saying goodbye, staring after Michael's back even after he's long gone.

"You guys give me diabetes," Tiffany comments, and Jeremy remembers to breathe. 

"Uh." That was just Michael playing the role of worried boyfriend for Tiffany, it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything. "Sorry?"

"She's just jealous that she doesn't have anybody to be gross with." Chloe says, emerging from the boys' dressing room, presumably done with tormenting Jake. "Don't apologize."

"Aw, Valentine. Cruel words from a fellow single," Tiffany says, placing a hand over her chest in mock-injury.

"Don't be cute," Chloe says, pushing Tiffany into the girl's dressing room and following her in. “I’ll stab you in the eye with my eyeshadow brush."

Jeremy counts to three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.

Once he's sure that his knees aren't going to give out underneath him, he steps into the dressing room and forces himself to forget the sensation of Michael's lips on his skin, doesn't let himself remember the breath exhaled against his hair or the warmth of Michael's fingers curled around his nape. Doesn't let himself drown in this lie that's eating him alive.

(But God, he wants to be devoured by it anyway.)

-

"You sure you don't want me to stick around?" Michael asks. His thumbs tap an anxious staccato beat against the steering wheel as he pulls up in front of Jeremy's house, and Jeremy wants to cover those hands with his own and quiet all of Michael's worries with his mouth. 

He hugs his backpack tighter to make sure he does no such thing. "Seriously, I'm fine. I'll just take a quick nap before dinner."

Michael chews his lip for a few second before he starts unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Uh, Michael?" He watches Michael strip his hoodie off and squawks when he throws it over Jeremy's head. "What?"

"Think of it as a get well charm," Michael says. "Wear it tomorrow if you want."

Oh god. "You don't have to do this for me," Jeremy says weakly, hating how his heart swoops at the scent of Michael clinging to the hoodie.

"It's just a hoodie, and it's not like I'm giving it to you _forever_ , jeez." Michael leans close and tousles Jeremy's hair, mouth curled in a fond smile that makes Jeremy feel weak. “I’m being a good boyfriend, dummy.”

_He's just being a good friend_ , Emma's voice whispers in Jeremy's head.

Jeremy doesn’t lean into Michael’s touch, doesn’t drag Michael in by the collar and kiss him. Doesn’t climb into Michael’s lap and beg for his touch and his mouth and his affection. He doesn’t do any of that, no matter how badly he wants to, and climbs out of the car. Waves goodbye.

-

He stays up late that night, curled up under the covers, texting on and off with the others. Christine sends him pictures of cats. Rich asks if he can borrow his English textbook tomorrow. Jenna agrees to help him plan the promposal.

Michael sends him dumb, random texts every four minutes. Most of them are puns. Some are updates of his night, like how there’s an obnoxious cricket performing its own solo in front of his window. Every single one of them means _I’m here for you._ It’s a ritual between them for sick days and bad nights, to spam the other with dumb messages just to help the other be less miserable and alone. Back when Jeremy’s mom left, Michael stayed up the whole night texting him. _It’s what best friends do for each other_ , Michael explained the next day, sleep-deprived and dead on his feet but still determined to send texts until Jeremy could smile again.

Michael’s always been too generous, too kind. So willing to give parts of himself up for Jeremy. It makes Jeremy greedy, makes him _want_ so fucking much. But it scares him as well, because Jeremy’s needs are cannibalizing Michael’s life, and Jeremy doesn’t know where the limit is. He’s terrified that one day he'll look up to find that he's stolen Michael’s entire life from him, that he’s going to ruin Michael’s life with Jeremy’s greed. 

He needs to stop, he knows that. He needs to draw a line. But Michael sends him another dumb pun that has him muffling a chuckle into his pillow, and he can’t find the courage to say _I don’t need you to do this for me_.

-

"You're not wearing it?" Michael asks.

Jeremy fakes a light laugh, shoving the hoodie into Michael's arms before he reaches for his seatbelt. He purposefully didn't let himself touch it at all last night, hiding it in his closet so he wouldn't be tempted. He doesn't feel like he deserves to wear it anymore. "Nah, I felt bad about hogging it. You hate Tuesdays, so you should wear it today. Besides, I feel fine! No stomach problems now."

"Huh." With a shrug, Michael pulls off his black hoodie and chucks it over to the backseat, then pulls on the red one. His eyes flicker over Jeremy's face, assessing. "Lemme know if you feel sick again, okay?"

_I'm sick of myself_. Jeremy doesn't let his smile slip. "Okay."

-

They arrive at school to see Rich and Jake waiting for them by Jeremy's locker, Chloe very deliberately ignoring them from a few feet away. It's easy to see why.

"'My boyfriend is better than your boyfriend?' Really?" Jeremy asks, amused.

Rich and Jake are both wearing matching teeshirts, replete with identical messages on their fronts. They look pleased with themselves.

Michael casts a disgruntled look at the white font on the black fabric. "Okay, first, my boyfriend is the best, so shut up." Jeremy stomps a figurative foot over his heart from jumping at those words. "Second, you don't get to claim superiority in _anything_ in fucking Comic Sans." He sounds personally affronted by that particular design choice. It's a voice Jeremy hears a lot in yearbook.

"Stop hating on the dyslexic-friendly font, bro," Rich says, crossing his arms with a smug grin. "You're just jealous."

"Of the eye-searing visual catastrophe you're wearing? Hell no." Michael narrows his eyes. "And don't fucking tell me this was the best choice for Jake. Most shirts like these come in better sans serif fonts than _Comic Sans_."

Jake shares a quick caught-out look with Rich that has Jeremy groaning. "Oh my god, you guys bought those shirts just to piss Michael off?"

"No, we bought these shirts because we wanted to get something like this for a while," Jake says. Pauses. "But we did choose this font because we knew Michael would hate it."

Michael scowls, grip tightening around Jeremy's hand. "Jer, I'm gonna grab my other hoodie from the car. You wear it."

"What? No, we're not engaging in a matching outfit contest," Jeremy hisses. "I'm not gonna wait for you to get back from the parking lot."

"Fine," Michael says, slinging his backpack off and then pulling off his hoodie, which he shoves at Jeremy. "You wear this and go. I'm gonna stop by my car and go to Spanish."

"Michael, no. This is stupid," Jeremy says, heart refusing to shut the fuck up and pounding away in his throat. He can’t wear this. But fuck, he doesn't have any good reason to _not_ wear it, either. 

"We're showing these assholes what real boyfriend clothes look like," Michael says, patting Jeremy's arm before running off. "See you at lunch, buttercream!"

"That's not even a real nickname!" Jeremy yells after him, hoodie crumpled in his arms. He bleakly watches Michael disappear around a corner before he whirls around to glare at Rich and Jake. “Look at what you two have caused.”

“You know,” Jake says with a bemused grin, “I didn’t know he’d get _that_ worked up about it.”

“If he got an acceptance letter from his dream university and it was written in Comic Sans, he’d shred it,” Jeremy says, grim. Michael almost had an aneurysm over a classmate’s powerpoint designs last year.

Rich snorts. “Would he shred it if it was a sincere, poetic love letter from you?”

Jeremy doesn’t even hesitate. “He’d burn it and tell me to redo it.”

“Brutal,” Rich says.

“He told me that we were best friends but if I used Papyrus in yearbook one more time, he’d punch me.” Jeremy says with a sigh. This is the boy he’s chosen to love, for fuck’s sake. “He said he was joking, but I’m sure he meant it.”

“Alright,” Chloe says loudly, still standing a significant distance away, “if you boys are done being an embarrassment, we have a study hall attendance sheet to go sign.”

“Don’t be jealous that my boyfriend is better than yours,” Jake says, going over to throw an arm around Chloe’s shoulder. 

The withering look she shoots at him could freeze volcanoes. “I’m a lesbian, you moron.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says hastily, before Chloe decides today’s the day she finally commits murder. “Let’s go!”

They walk to their study hall classroom to sign in, then go to the end of the hall where Mr. Reyes's classroom is. Mr. Reyes looks up from his computer and then huffs, ignoring them as they make a beeline towards the desks clustered in a rectangle near the back corner.

"Today's a full tech rehearsal, right?" Jake asks, settling into the seat beside Jeremy's.

Jeremy nods. "Today and tomorrow, then opening night on Thursday. No weekend for us."

"Slaves to the stage for the week," Rich agrees.

"And I have an exam on Friday," Chloe adds, slamming her physics textbook onto her desk. "This week needs to be over already."

"Someone's testy this week," Jeremy says with a straight face. He manages not to cackle as Rich squawks, clapping both hands over his mouth to stifle the sound, and Jake lets out an impressed whistle. 

Chloe leans across her desk to punch him, which Jeremy evades. "Get out."

"I couldn't help myself! Sorry, sorry," Jeremy apologizes, grinning at Chloe's disgruntled glare."Don't exile me, please."

"Your boyfriend is rubbing off on you way too much," she says.

Rich erupts into a peal of muffled snickers, smothering his laughter into the back of one hand as he manages to choke out, "Oh man, the imagery!"

Jeremy's face heats up, brain all too eager to conjure a picture of him and Michael taking Chloe's statement literally. God, the thought of Michael, hips snug against Jeremy's, hands on Jeremy's waist—okay, no, Jeremy is _not_ getting a boner in front of his friends. 

He wrenches his brain out of the gutter. "Stop it," he hisses at Rich, who's collapsed onto his desk in a fit of giggles. “Oh my god, stop imagining it, you perv! We’re not even,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “ _actually_ dating!”

“That’s exactly why it’s funny,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes. 

“It’s really not.” Jeremy lets the exasperation bleed into his tone. Pretends it’s all part of the joke. “Not for me, at least.”

Jake grins at Jeremy, reaching over his desk to pet Rich's hair. “Lighten up, bro. Just have fun with it, like Michael.” He points at Michael’s hoodie, which Jeremy haphazardly dropped on one side of his desk. “Enjoy yourself while you can, you know?”

Oh god, if only Jake knew exactly how fully Jeremy’d _enjoyed_ the hoodie this past Saturday. 

“I still think this is dumb,” he says, feeling his face go warm, hoping his embarrassment can be disguised as annoyance. “It’s not even like he brought a hoodie that matches this one. We’re just going to be hoodie boyfriends.”

“Better the hoodies than the dumb teeshirts,” Chloe says.

Rich, having recovered from the giggle onslaught, raises his head and pouts. “Our shirts are the best. Don’t be jealous.”

“Of what, your horrible fashion choices?” Chloe asks.

Jake leans back to look down at the front of his shirt. “Actually, I think it looks good.”

“You look good in everything, babe,” Rich says.

Chloe groans. “I hate you both."

Jeremy joins Rich's and Jake's laughter, ignoring the tug of jealousy in his chest. It's pointless to envy the easy banter and constant touches between Rich and Jake. It's pointless to envy the matching shirts, or the salacious winks, or the bone-deep confidence in their love for each other. 

It's all pointless, but he still pulls on Michael's hoodie when Jake nudges him again. 

-

"See? We look so much better than you losers," Michael says, one arm thrown around Jeremy's shoulders, wearing the plain black hoodie he'd abandoned earlier on their way to school. 

"Dude, those hoodies don't even match," Rich points out.

"Whatever, identical clothes are boring." Michael turns his head to look at Jeremy, and there's a warm kind of pride in his eyes that makes Jeremy's knees feel a little weak. He squeezes Jeremy's shoulder with a wide smile. "Besides, Jeremy looks good in my clothes, right?"

"Shut up," Jeremy mutters, ducking his head, feeling himself melt against the warmth of Michael pressed beside him. Ignores the sound of Emma’s voice whispering _he has no clue at all, does he_ in his head.

-

It gets easier, pretending to be pretending. It's a lot like that video where the person under the Obama mask turns out to be Barack Obama himself. Jeremy's pretending to have feelings for Michael to mask the fact that he really does have feelings for Michael. 

Jeremy's not sure when his life turned into an SNL skit. 

So when Wednesday lunch rolls around and Jeremy finally slumps into his seat at the lunch table and throws his arms around Michael with a heavy sigh, nobody bats an eye. It's all part of the act. 

"So I guess you don't want to talk about how your history exam went," Michael says, turning in his seat so he can hug Jeremy properly, one hand rubbing soothing circles into Jeremy's back. Jeremy clings tighter, muffling a noise of suffering into Michael's shoulder. 

"It was all essay questions," Christine complains, setting her lunch tray down with a clatter. "My wrist hurts."

"Same," Jeremy mumbles into Michael's sweater. He didn't even finish writing the conclusion for the last question, so he's feeling extra lousy. 

"Aww, poor pumpkin," Michael coos in a half-teasing tone that has Jeremy groaning. He swats Michael's arm in protest, not bothering to move otherwise. The stress lifts off his shoulders as Michael rubs his back, the tension melting away from his spine as he relaxes into Michael's hold. He can feel Michael chuckle through where they're pressed together, and that sensation makes his heart clench, a burst of fondness blooming through him.

“And there’s our gay lovebirds" Rich's voice sings, prompting Jeremy to finally lift his head and see that Rich and Brooke have joined them at the table.

“No need to be jealous,” Michael says. “Your gay lovebird should be here soon.”

Rich grins, holding up what looks like a newspaper. “Jealous? Dude, I’m actually fucking impressed. You guys just outgayed us.”

Jeremy stares at the newspaper, puzzled, until he remembers Erica and her notepad and oh _shit_.

“A new couple has debuted in our school’s hallways,” Rich reads aloud, ignoring Jeremy’s screech and Michael’s strangled swearing as they try to detach themselves to grab the newspaper. Rich dances out of their reach, continuing, “Jeremy Heere, junior, and Michael Mell, junior, best friends of twelve years, have recently upgraded their relationship and presented themselves as late-coming contenders for this year’s Power Couple award.”

“Oh my god,” Jeremy squeaks, finally managing to snatch the newspaper out of Rich’s hands. 

Brooke holds up her own copy of the school newspaper as she settles into a seat between Christine and Chloe. “Jenna and the other newspaper people were handing these out in the atrium.” She beams at Jeremy. “You guys are cute in it.”

Michael peers over Jeremy’s shoulder as he folds the newspaper to see the article on page four, a small chunk of two columns on the lower left side. There’s a sizable photo of Michael and Jeremy included, the one Erica took right before rehearsal. Michael’s grinning, his mouth a wide, happy curve, head tipped against Jeremy’s. Jeremy’s smile is small and crooked, awkward. But one of his hands is reaching up, fingertips brushing against the sleeve of the arm Michael’s thrown around Jeremy’s shoulders, a reciprocation of touch, and it’s almost believable. Almost perfect.

Jeremy tears his eyes away from the photo to read the article instead. It’s short and complimentary, describing how comfortable they seem to be with each other, making note of how smoothly they seem to have transitioned from best friends to boyfriends. There’s the short explanation of how their relationship changed and how everybody else reacted to it, the amused description of Jeremy and Michael bickering over their ideal dates. Then there’s Michael talking about Jeremy’s smile. There’s Jeremy talking about how Michael never lets him down. 

“Wow,” Michael murmurs from where he’s been reading over Jeremy’s shoulder.

Jeremy doesn’t dare look back to see the expression on Michael’s face. Instead, he traces the words _I want him to smile like that every day_ with a finger, repeats the sentence in his head. His ribcage rattles with _I don’t know how I got so lucky to have him,_ with the memory of Michael's wide eyes staring at him with something akin to wonder, and he can hardly breathe.

"Your gay commitment has been officially endorsed," Jenna's voice says from beside him, bringing Jeremy back to reality. She's holding a small stack of newspapers with a grin. “No girl is going to make a move on you after this." 

"Well, before spring break, I could've sworn no girl would try to jump a guy in the school bathroom," Michael says, leaning onto Jeremy's back, one arm snaking around Jeremy's stomach so that he's hugging Jeremy from behind. Jeremy swallows a whimper as his entire digestive system backflips into his ribcage. "So I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Pessimist," Chloe says.

"What can I say, my boyfriend is super irresistible," Michael says, breath huffing out against the shell of Jeremy's ear, and Jeremy almost knocks Michael's arm away to turn around and kiss him senseless. 

Instead, he gently worms his way out of Michael's hold while their friends award Michael's statement the cat-calling it deserves. He doesn't have to fake his flustered blush or his stuttered rebuttal at Michael’s soppiness, because it’s real. Just as real as the soundless scream trapped in his lungs, the desperate urge to crush his mouth to Michael’s and swallow him whole, the black dread in his chest that grows heavier with every skip in his heartbeat. Those, he masks with rolled eyes and a pleased grin, like the Obama mask over Obama. Another face of Jeremy Heere to hide the real Jeremy Heere. 

-

Fifteen minutes before they open the auditorium doors for the audience on opening night, Michael skids into the dressing room with a single rose, which he presents with an exaggerated curtsy. “Here you go, my schmoopsie-poo.”

“You know, I was almost touched,” Jeremy says, taking the rose, “but then you ruined it.”

“Tootsy-wootsy, you’re breaking my heart!” Michael places a hand over his heart in mock-devastation.

Jeremy punches Michael in the shoulder. “Stop assaulting me with the shittiest nicknames you can find on Google, or I’m buying you the ugliest bouquet I can find for the promposal, you jerk.”

“Aw, baby cakes, you’re getting me a bouquet?” Michael asks, sounding delighted and not at all paying attention to any of the other words that came with that declaration. 

“Nope, not anymore,” Jeremy says. 

“Get a room, guys,” Rich yells from the other side of the room, where he’s straddling Jake’s lap. 

Michael shoots them a disbelieving look. “Hypocritical, much?”

“Nah, we’re not actually doing anything,” Jake says even as his arms tighten around Rich’s waist. “Can’t ruin my stage makeup.”

Rich nods. “Dude, Chloe would _murder_ us. Our bodies would never be found.”

The other cast members in the dressing room silently nod in unison at the statement.

“Chloe Valentine rules over the dressing rooms with an iron fist,” Jeremy stage-whispers, fiddling with the rose petals. They’re soft, a deep red just a shade away from Michael’s hoodie.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” Michael’s not wearing the hoodie right now. Instead, he’s wearing the standard tech crew’s all-black getup, with black jeans and a button-up shirt that fits him snugly. He looks ridiculously attractive like that. Jeremy’s blood goes a little hot at the realization.

“Yeah, well,” he babbles, dragging his gaze away from Michael’s rolled-up sleeves to refocus on the rose. “Tiffany’s been advocating for a democracy. I think Chloe’s going to have her assassinated after the musical’s over.”

“Actually,” Chloe says as she leans in through the doorway, “I’m not delegating. I’m going to strangle her with my bare hands.”

“I knew you were the kinky type!” Tiffany calls out from the girls’ dressing room.

Chloe huffs, checking Jeremy’s hair and makeup one last time. “It can’t be too late to get her an understudy.”

“No murder until the musical’s over!” Christine sing-songs from the hallway.

Jeremy can see Jenna peering around the girls’ dressing room doorway into the hall. She asks, “So murder’s okay _after_ the musical?”

Michael edges closer to Jeremy. “You know, I’m starting to think that you’re right. Girls are terrifying.”

“Glad we have an understanding.” Jeremy nudges Michael with his elbow. “Don’t you have to be in the sound booth?”

“I know, I’m going. Just wanted to wish you luck before the show starts.” Michael ducks close, his face inches away from Jeremy’s when he pauses, then mutters, “Oh right, makeup.” 

He pulls back, unaware of Jeremy’s heart having relocated to his throat, heartbeat hammering so hard he can feel it in his mouth. After a considering hum, Michael’s eyes light up as he grins, grabbing Jeremy’s free hand and lifting it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

Jeremy’s heart swan dives from his throat to the bottom of his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He feels a step away from bursting from his skin. 

“Break a leg, hot stuff,” Michael says, giving Jeremy’s hand one last squeeze. 

“Thanks,” Jeremy says weakly as Michael leaves. His heart’s thudding in his bones, rattling him inside-out. He’s pretty sure that a very different part of him is close to breaking.

-

_The thrill of Michael’s mouth on Jeremy’s skin could undo him. His mouth is hot on the nape of Jeremy's neck, trailing lower, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses down Jeremy's spine. Jeremy's gasping, arms shaking with the effort to keep him from crashing face-first onto the mattress, on his elbows and knees under Michael's mercy. He's nearly crying from how empty he feels. He's incoherent with need, begging for Michael to fill him up, and Michael shushes him, coaxing Jeremy's knees farther apart to spread him open._

_And then Michael is pushing in, a low groan muffled against Jeremy's shoulder blade, and it feels so good, but it's not enough, there's still a yawning emptiness that's driving Jeremy crazy, and he's pushing back, pleading for more, more, more—_

Jeremy wakes up, awareness seeping back as he shoves a hand into his boxers to curl a fist around his aching dick, the heat of Michael's mouth and hands and cock still fresh in his mind, and he hisses at the sensation of mild relief. There's no finesse, just desperate lust clouding his sleep-heavy body. He jerks himself off fast and hard, already wet with all the precome he's leaked in his sleep, and he's so close but still so empty, so fucking needy for Michael's dick inside him, to fuck him until he's a gasping wreck, he needs it so bad—

He comes with a choked whine, the relief of his orgasm crashing into him and chasing the rest of his drowsiness away. He lies there in bed for a few minutes, the heat leeching away until all that's left is the sticky mess in his boxers and on his hand, his brain catching up with him.

He's having wet dreams of having sex with Michael. 

Jeremy hates himself so much.

After another minute of wallowing in self-loathing, Jeremy finally drags himself out of bed to head for the bathroom. There's still the odd twinge of lust in his system, just the shadow of a suggestion for a second round, but he ignores it. Instead, he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and wonders if anybody else sees what he sees. If anybody else can see the loser he sees in the mirror. He wonders if Michael can see it. The ugly Jeremy Heere, the dirty Jeremy Heere, the parts of himself that Jeremy hides under his skin. He wonders if Michael suspects any of it. If he has a creeping idea of what lies under the Obama mask.

He wonders what Michael sees that makes Jeremy worth protecting. Jeremy sure as hell doesn't see it.

-

When Jeremy arrives at the dressing room for Friday's show, there's a single rose taped to his mirror. Beneath it, there's a post-it with Michael's chicken-scratch handwriting on it. _Break a leg, superstar!_

Jeremy huffs a fond laugh. He can't mask his helpless, besotted smile, even when Jake teases him for it. He does manage to mask the dull terror coiling in the pit of his stomach, the dread of _I love him so much that it scares me_. He's an actor. He swallows those words down and pretends it doesn't hurt to do so.

-

After lunch on Saturday, Jeremy takes the bus to Jenna's house to discuss battle plans. They set up in the living room, with Jenna's laptop and their notebooks and a plateful of muffins baked by Jenna's grandmother. 

The muffins turn out to be a tactical mistake.

"Will you focus," Jenna hisses, "and stop making out with the muffin?"

Jeremy's too busy stuffing his mouth with a second chocolate muffin and moaning in gastronomic delight to reply, so Jenna hits his arm hard. "Ow!"

"I'm telling your boyfriend that you're having an affair with baked goods," Jenna threatens.

"Let me enjoy my affair in peace," Jeremy whines after swallowing his mouthful of heaven. “And it’s not even a real relationship, so whatever.”

Jenna hits him again. “I’m sacrificing a Saturday afternoon where I could have been actually doing things, instead of watching your amateur food porn hour. Do you want help asking your fake boyfriend out to prom or not?”

“Yes, I need help. Please help me,” Jeremy says through the last mouthful of the muffin. 

“You’re gross,” Jenna tells him, but she proves her friendship by scooting closer and outlining a list of popular and not-too-outlandish promposal schemes for him, so Jeremy isn’t offended.

Twenty minutes later, they’ve entered a vicious cycle where one of them proposes an idea and the other shoots them down and proposes an alternative idea, which is then shot down in favor of another idea, so on and so forth. Jenna dismisses Jeremy’s suggestion of planting a surprise in Michael’s locker with a card asking him out to prom, citing that it’s too low-key. Jeremy, in turn, vetoes Jenna’s plan which involves breakdancing, strobe lights, and a cat, because he’d like to actually graduate from high school instead of becoming a hermit in Alaska to never show his face to the public again. 

“Well,” Jenna says, crossing the suggestion off the list on her notebook, “I did tell Rich you wouldn’t go for it.”

_Of course_ Rich was the one who came up with that one. “How are they doing their promposals, by the way? Rich and Jake,” Jeremy asks.

“I think they flipped a coin. Jake is doing it this year, and Rich is supposed to do it next year.” Jenna shrugs. “Jake’s been keeping his plans a secret, so I don’t know what he’s gonna do.”

“Huh.” Jeremy fiddles with his pencil, wondering what _those_ promposals would look like. He wonders what it’s like, to be so confident in the future, to know without a doubt that they’ll have another prom together, another year. What it would be like, to have a year of holding hands with Michael, to see a spring where Michael’s the one asking Jeremy to come to prom with him.

He remembers sitting in drama class, watching Christine’s eyes dim with melancholy as she said _you can’t pretend forever_. 

He knows that. But the wretched, selfish part of him, the part of him under the mask that’s hungry for Michael’s touch and affection digs in its heels and says _I don’t know how to stop this_. 

Jeremy’s not sure if he _can_ stop it, if he can go back to a life without red hoodies forced onto him, without roses taped to his dressing room mirror, without Michael calling him dumb nicknames that could almost mean something else entirely. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever put an end to this, if given the choice. If he’s already lost the power to draw the line between fantasy and reality, between what he wants and what he can’t have.

Where would Michael draw the line? He’d go along with a lot of things, has already crossed lines that Jeremy didn’t ever consider crossing until he’d realized that Michael had led him past them all. He’s not sure if he wants Michael to go further or if he wants to see Michael finally say no.

_He’s just being a good friend_ , Emma’s voice reminds him.

Jeremy flinches out of his headspace.

“—or maybe a slideshow,” Jenna says. She must have been talking for a while now. “What do you think?”

“Er,” Jeremy says.

Jenna narrows her eyes at him. “You weren’t paying attention, were you.”

“Uh, maybe not?”

She sighs and sets her pen down, taking a moment to stretch both arms over her head. “Let’s take a break. Five minutes.”

Jeremy takes the opportunity to nibble on another muffin, which earns him a long-suffering glare from Jenna. “I can’t help it. They’re so good.”

“I don’t know if you came over here to eat muffins or to plan a promposal,” Jenna says, but she picks up a banana muffin and takes a bite. “We still haven’t decided anything, not even a date. Are we still thinking next week? Maybe Friday?”

“Friday’s good,” Jeremy says, absent-minded. After a moment of hesitation, he says, “You know, can’t I just give him flowers? Something simple.”

Jenna raises both eyebrows at him. “You could do that,” she says slowly, “but you know that the whole point of this is to remind people that you’re off-limits for the time-being, right? I mean, the newspaper article was a great bonus, but I’ve still heard some hopeful chatter that maybe you and Michael are just experimenting, or that you guys are going to realize you work better as best friends. That kind of stuff. It’s dumb gossip and it barely means anything, but a public promposal would be a great deterrent for the rest of the year.”

“There’s still that kind of gossip going around?” Jeremy asks, mildly horrified.

“Duh, it’s high school.” Jenna finishes off her muffin, taking a long drink from her mug of juice to wash it down, then clears her throat. “Look, if it’s too much for you, you can go with something small. Michael would probably be happy even if all you did was throw a candy bar at him in the bathroom for your promposal. You don’t have to force yourself.”

Jeremy blinks at her. “I didn’t expect you to go easy on me.”

“Shut up.” Jenna picks her pen up and twirls it. “I’m tired of hearing all the dumbasses talking shit about you, but other people talking shit shouldn’t dictate how you live your life.”

He smiles at her, the cold dread under his sternum melting away a little. “Thanks, for caring.”

A corner of Jenna’s mouth ticks up. “Whatever. Let’s finish planning this thing so we can get milkshakes before call time.”

-

Michael presents him with another rose before the auditorium doors are due to open, his eyes warm as he tells Jeremy to break a leg.

_I love you_ , Jeremy thinks fiercely, longingly, achingly. _God, I love you so much._

He didn’t know a heart could break like this. From the inside, pressure ballooning outwards, fissures widening into cracks into gaping holes, crumbling apart under the weight of words unsaid.

-

The Sunday matinee is the last show, so there’s an odd mix of somber and giddy feelings in the air, everybody eager to be done but also reluctant for the show to reach its end. The bittersweet feeling grows when Jeremy accepts his single rose from Michael before the show. Michael caught him by the stairwell, so there’s just the two of them, nobody to perform for, but Michael still presses a kiss to Jeremy’s hand anyway. 

“For good luck,” Michael explains.

Jeremy wants to drag Michael in by his shirt collar, wants to ask for a kiss, for Michael’s hands on his hips, for an entire prayer to be delivered into his mouth. _For good luck_ , he would say. 

He wants to know how far Michael will go, how far he can be pushed, just what he can be made to do if Jeremy just asked him. He wants to know where the lines are, how many they can cross before they reach the point of no return. He wants, he wants, _he wants_.

“Jeremy?” Christine steps around the corner, blinking at Jeremy, then Michael. “Chloe wants you back so she can do a final check.”

“Right,” Jeremy says, stepping away from Michael, rose clenched in a fist. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“See you later!” Michael calls, and Jeremy waves a hand before ducking around the corner. 

He takes a moment to pause and regroup, counting the seconds between inhale and exhale, and he’s just about to leave when he hears Christine say, “You’re investing too much in this, Michael.”

Jeremy freezes.

“What, I’m just being a good boyfriend!” Michael laughs, and it sounds oddly hollow. “It’s okay, Chris. I’m doing this because I want to.”

“What happens when it’s over?” Christine asks. She sounds sad.

“Then it’s over. We go back to normal best friends, and this’ll be just a good memory.” Michael’s voice goes soft as he says, “I’m enjoying myself, even if it sounds like a shitty thing to say.”

Christine’s next words are so quiet that Jeremy barely hears her. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” Michael says, sounding tired. “But until Jeremy says we’re done, I’m going to keep doing it.”

He shouldn’t be hearing this.

Jeremy takes off towards the dressing room, careful not to let his footsteps echo loudly in the hallway, his heart pounding. He tries to shake Michael’s words out of his head. _Until Jeremy says we’re done._

Those words shouldn’t scare Jeremy so much. He doesn’t know why they do, why they make the dread grow colder and blacker and heavier inside of him. All he knows is that the mask is growing too tight, too suffocating, and he’s too close to finally giving away just what lays under the lie.

-

He doesn’t know how he makes it to curtain call. Maybe it’s his newfound ability to compartmentalize, or it’s the familiar rhythm and flow of settling into character on that first note of the piano that narrows his focus down. Whatever the case, he doesn’t flub any lines or slip out of character even once, never allowing himself a single glance towards the sound booth the entire time. He changes out of his costume and wipes off the makeup on auto-pilot, helped by Jake and Rich alternately poking him into resurfacing as Jeremy Heere every time he loses track of what he’s doing.

By the time they’re piling out the side entrance where audience members can greet the cast members and congratulate them, Jeremy’s almost back to normal.

“Great job, you guys!” Carrie gushes, high-fiving Jeremy with a wide grin. “You know, I always thought you’re a klutz, but you pulled some smooth moves up there. I am _impressed_.” 

“Isn’t he great?” Christine asks.

“Totally. And you were _amazing_ ,” Carrie says, leaning over to give Christine a big hug. “Girl, you were born for that spotlight.”

Jake and Jeremy share grins at the interaction, watching Rich join the conversation, then Jeremy sees Jake’s grin dissolve into a wary look, which is all the warning Jeremy gets before he hears a familiar voice.

“Jeremy.”

Jeremy closes his eyes for a beat, then opens them with a slow exhale. “Emma.” 

He turns to look her in the eye. She’s smiling that serpentine smile, too knowing and too amused. “You came to see the show?”

“I did,” Emma agrees. Next to Jeremy, he can tell Jake and Chloe have gone quiet, paying attention. “Not just to see you, of course. But you were a delightful bonus.”

He doesn’t know what she wants, if she even wants anything from him at all. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You know, I had something I wanted to ask you,” Emma says.

The dread coils tightly in his gut. “What is it?”

“Well,” she says coyly, “it’s probably something that we wouldn’t want anybody else to overhear.”

“Nice try,” Chloe says, stepping in. “But hell no.”

Jeremy agrees with Chloe’s sentiment, but he can’t risk Emma ripping the mask off and revealing the truth right here, so he says, “Okay, we can talk somewhere else.”

He pretends not to see the incredulous look on Chloe’s face, or the alarm on Jake’s, and he’s about to suggest that they take a short walk when Michael’s voice rings out: “We have a problem here?”

Michael shoulders through the loose throng of people still chatting around them, Brooke not far behind him. Jeremy feels the bottom of his stomach drop out in panic, because he can’t have Emma say anything to Michael, can’t let Michael _know_. But if he disappears with Emma now, he won’t have any good explanation for his actions when he comes back.

“We’re just talking,” Emma says. “I just had a private question, really.”

“Private?” Michael questions. He hasn’t quite shoved his way between Emma and Jeremy, but he’s perilously close to doing so. 

“It’s a quick one, so I can just whisper it in his ear, if you’re so worried,” Emma teases. She turns back to Jeremy with an expectant look. “Do you mind, Jeremy?”

Michael looks ready to intervene on a physical level, so Jeremy put what he hopes is a reassuring hand on Michael’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Beaming, Emma steps close and cups her hands to Jeremy’s ear. Jeremy leans sideways a little to accommodate her. 

“He’s going to find out very soon,” she whispers. 

Jeremy’s entire body turns to stone. “What?”

She giggles, pulling away from him. “You’ll find out.” She pats his cheek twice, then pauses, smile turning mischievous. “Why don’t we see right now?”

“Huh?”

Emma leans in close, and Jeremy can’t move, still stunned by her words, and just when it dawns on him that she’s too close, a hand yanks him away by the back of his shirt with a snarl that Jeremy hardly recognizes as Michael’s voice.

Then he turns halfway to see Michael’s mouth twisted in fury, his eyes sparking with anger, and Jeremy’s about to say something—anything, nothing, god, he can barely think—when Michael fists the front of Jeremy's shirt and _pulls_.

A warm mouth crashes against Jeremy’s lips, one hand still gripping Jeremy's shirt and the other curling around Jeremy's wrist, and it’s like gravity’s been reversed. Jeremy feels weightless, like he’s lifting off of the earth, the only solid points in the universe being Michael’s mouth and hands. There’s a slick hot flash of tongue sliding against Jeremy’s lips and then it’s gone. Michael pulls away, the fury still boiling in his eyes as he turns to raise a challenging eyebrow at Emma, who looks a little surprised but still amused. 

“Hands off,” Michael warns her. Then he’s tugging Jeremy away, out of the crowd and into the building, and gravity slams back into the world. Jeremy’s crashing back onto the ground, reality recalibrating itself as he realizes that nearly the whole crowd is watching them, that their friends are staring, that Michael just kissed him. Michael just _kissed_ him.

“I need to,” Jeremy breathes, finally regaining the ability to speak, tugging his wrist out of Michael’s grip, “um, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Michael looks at him, the fury deflating and leaving only uncertainty behind. “Okay. And uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you without warning.”

“It’s okay,” Jeremy says, even though it isn’t. “Go talk to the others before they freak out. I’ll catch up.”

Michael hesitates, then nods, and that’s all Jeremy can stomach to see before he’s making a beeline for the nearest bathroom down the end of the hall. He locks the door behind him and stumbles into a stall, clutching the toilet seat as nausea roils in his stomach. He feels like he might throw up any second.

He knows now.

Michael won’t draw the line. Michael won’t say no. Michael will go as far as Jeremy pushes him, will keep going and going and going, because he’s Jeremy’s protector, and he’ll do whatever he thinks it takes to keep Jeremy safe. Michael will do what Jeremy asks because it’s what best friends do for each other, and Jeremy has taken advantage of him past the point of no return. 

This is Jeremy’s fault.

He can’t do this anymore. He can’t do this to Michael, taking advantage of him using their friendship, can’t use him to fulfill Jeremy’s fantasies. Michael deserves better than that. 

And he can’t do this to himself, either. He can’t play pretend anymore, wearing a mask of his own face and feelings, basking in a fabricated love that leaves him aching and empty. He can’t pretend his heart isn’t breaking every time Michael mimics the actions of a lover, every time Michael makes it look almost real.

Michael isn’t going to end this, so it's Jeremy's responsibility to let him go.

He needs to break up with Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last, and then there'll be an epilogue after that. Thanks for sticking with me so far!!


	6. Chapter 6

Jeremy rejoins his friends outside the auditorium and finds Michael explaining how he'd brought out the big guns in a last-ditch effort to ward Emma off for good. Rich applauds Michael's heroism while Jenna makes a half-hearted complaint about missing a photo op, her eyes sharp as she glances from Michael to Jeremy with something like a question in her eyes. Jeremy shrugs off everybody's concern and thanks Michael for his intervention, pretending not to notice the strained edge to Michael's smile. 

They head to Denny's for a post-show feast, even though Jeremy’s appetite is gone in the wake of his churning stomach. The conversation turns from Emma to Chloe's tentative murder plans for Tiffany to the new gossip about Ashley Parker hooking up with a senior from the archery club. Jeremy bemoans his history exam results with Christine and makes plans to study with Brooke and Chloe for French. He listens to Jake and Jenna argue over Game of Thrones predictions and laughs when Christine and Rich reenact their favorite bits of the musical.

Michael doesn’t touch him even once. Not during the meal, not during the goodbyes, not even during the drive back to Jeremy’s house. It makes Jeremy’s stomach churn harder and his skin turn clammy, the back of his neck growing sticky with cold sweat. The words waiting on the tip of his tongue fill him with nausea, and he knows he can’t swallow them this time. 

They pull into the driveway and Jeremy rehearses the words in his head. _I think we should break up_. He feels lightheaded.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” Michael asks, and there’s still a flicker of uncertainty in his voice, but it fades away into concern when Michael looks at his face. “Jer? You okay?”

“I’m not,” Jeremy chokes out, and god, he’s doing this. He’s breaking up with Michael. It’s not even real but it still makes him feel sick.

Michael straightens up in alarm. “Jeremy?”

He feels sick.

“Michael, I think,” Jeremy starts, and his vision wobbles, which is when he realizes: “I think I’m actually sick.”

And then he passes out.

-

Turns out, Jeremy’s nausea, dizziness, and cold sweats aren’t psychosomatic symptoms of his dread, but physical symptoms of his very real flu. 

“Dude, you fucking scared me,” Michael says, sitting on the edge of Jeremy’s bed, his brow still furrowed a little with worry. “How the fuck did you even perform today?”

“Ngh,” Jeremy croaks.

His dad comes in through the doorway with a plastic bag from Walgreens and a steaming mug. “He needs his rest.”

“Yeah, I bet he does,” Michael says. He hesitates, then leans close to brush the curls off Jeremy’s forehead and press a brief kiss there. “Get better soon, yeah?”

Jeremy hates how his eyes go hot and watery at the contact. Hates how the relief rolls through him at Michael’s touch. He pretends it’s his fever’s fault when he cries after Michael leaves.

-

Jeremy’s fever is a whopping 104 degrees the next morning, so his dad calls the school to let them know he’s going to be absent and calls Michael to let him know he doesn’t need to pick Jeremy up today. Jeremy spends the whole first half of the day sleeping in and forcing matzo ball soup down so that he isn’t taking medicine on an empty stomach. He throws up twice and sweats through his pajamas to the point where his dad has to change the bedsheets for him so that's he's not shivering in dampness.

So he's feeling wretched and miserable when Michael, Rich, and Christine come piling into his room with a get-well card signed by the whole group.

Rich gives him a sympathetic look. "You look like shit."

"I feel like shit," Jeremy mumbles, not bothering to lift his face from where it's half-smushed into his pillow. 

"Oh, Jeremy," Christine sighs, rubbing a gentle hand over where his arm is buried under his blanket. The gesture comforts him through his feverish haze. "I feel horrible. I thought you looked a little off yesterday during pre-show warmup. I should've known."

Michael wheels over the wheelie chair for Christine to sit in with a snort. "If anybody should've noticed anything, it's me." There's an odd undertone to his words, something like self-deprecation, as he settles into one of the beanbag chairs a few feet away, farther away then Jeremy would like. "Some boyfriend I am."

"Okay, downers, this isn't the blame game club," Rich says. "Jeremy, dude, guess what Jakey and I got you?”

“Mmf?” Jeremy asks.

Rich digs into his backpack and pulls out a black lump—a teeshirt, Jeremy realizes. With _My boyfriend is hotter than your boyfriend_ emblazoned on the front.

"Fuck you," Jeremy manages to vocalize, the corners of his mouth twitching up despite himself.

"I'll tell Jake to get on that as soon as he's free from chess club," Rich says with a wink, eliciting a bemused _ew_ from Christine. He sets the shirt on the dresser and then drops down onto the beanbag chair beside Michael, pulling out another teeshirt and plopping it onto Michael’s lap. “Happy birthday to you, my dear gay bro.”

“My birthday was four months ago,” Michael deadpans, holding up the shirt to examine it with a critical eye. After a moment, he sighs and drapes it over his backpack. “Well, Helvetica isn’t a bad choice.”

Christine blinks. “You can actually tell what the font is just by looking at it?”

“Only all the default fonts on photoshop,” Michael says with a nonchalant shrug.

“Holy shit,” Rich says.

The silent awe of the moment is broken when Jeremy starts snickering into his pillow, which is when Michael’s pokerface cracks with a smirk, giving away the game.

Rich sputters. “You fucker, I almost believed you!”

“Michael, you should totally audition for the play in the fall,” Christine says, laughing as Michael falls off the beanbag in an effort to dodge Rich’s noogie attempt. Jeremy joins the laughter when Michael stands up, effectively rendering all headlock attempts from Rich useless.

“Dude, I know some fonts on sight, but like, only the ones I use a lot or super unique ones.” Michael grins as he placates Rich into sitting back down. “Honestly, I have no idea what this font is. I’m just grateful it isn’t Comic Sans.”

Rich shoves Michael’s shoulder lightly. “Show your gratitude by wearing it, asshole.”

A shadow of a grimace flits across Michael’s face before he smiles. “Yeah, when Jeremy’s back at school.”

Jeremy feels the humor turn sour in his stomach, the realization that neither of them will get the chance to wear the couple shirts hitting him like a splash of cold water.

“Jeremy?” Christine waves a hand in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

He blinks up at her for a second, trying to shake off the icy tendrils of dread creeping up his ribcage. "Uh, yeah. Just tired." 

"Do you want us to leave?" she asks.

He shakes his head, wriggling a little closer to the edge of his bed towards his friends. He doesn't want to be alone just yet. "Keep talking? I wanna listen."

Christine smiles. "Sure." She pets his hair briefly before turning her head back to Rich and Michael. "Who was the guy that asked Tiffany to prom today at lunch?" 

"Kevin Green," Rich says. "She said no."

Michael winces. "She did? Shit. Why?"

"He's a dick," Rich explains. "And I think she's got her eye on someone else." 

Michael straightens up. "Wait, you're not thinking—“

"It's _not_ ," Rich cuts in. "She's totally not interested in your boyfriend anymore, buddy. Chillax."

"Ooooh, I think I know who it is," Christine says.

They talk like that for a while, Jeremy listening as his friends debate whether the new burrito place at the mall is better than Chipotle and argue over the best ice cream flavors. They laugh and bicker and talk right beside him, pausing mid-conversation every once in a while to check if Jeremy's still listening and interested. He's pathetically grateful for the company, for that sensation of being included, but there's still an ache under his sternum, a loneliness that can't be soothed. 

"We should get going," Rich says a while later. "Dude looks like he's gonna fall asleep."

Christine nods. "Yeah, we should let him rest." She squeezes Jeremy's shoulder and stands. "I need the bathroom first, though."

As Christine leaves, Michael stands up and trudges forward, looking down at Jeremy with a soft, fond look that makes the ache in Jeremy echo louder through his bones. "Hey. You okay?"

Slowly, Jeremy shakes his head.

Michael frowns, worry seeping into his eyes. "What's the matter?"

_I'm breaking up with you_ , Jeremy tries to say, but the words disintegrate in his throat. They're shards of glass in the back of his mouth, and through the phantom taste of blood, his heart pushes a different set of words out of his mouth instead. 

"You're too far away," Jeremy says in a small, breaking voice.

A choked laugh that almost sounds like a sob tears itself out of Michael's throat. "Am I, now." 

One step, then another. Then the side of Jeremy's mattress is sinking under Michael's weight, a warm hand pressing against Jeremy's cheek, and Michael's smiling at him, one corner of his mouth quirked and his eyes downcast. He looks sad.

"Missed me?" Michael asks.

Jeremy answers with closing his eyes against the rush of tears, curling closer towards Michael, one hand creeping out from under the covers to grip at Michael's sleeve so he can breathe in the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. He thinks he can hear Michael's breath hitch, but everything is fuzzy and far away, the ache inside him finally quieting at Michael's touch.

"Okay, I'm ready to go," Christine's voice says. Then, "Oh."

"Just gimme a sec," Michael says, but Rich's voice interrupts him.

"Nah, you stay. I'll just take the bus home."

Christine's voice chimes, "Yeah, I can walk from here."

"But," Michael says.

"Your bro needs you right now," Rich says. "Seriously, it's fine." There's the sound of footsteps approaching the bed. "Get better soon, buddy." 

There's another set of footsteps, a kind hand settling on Jeremy's. "Bye, Jeremy. Feel better soon, okay?" A faint squeeze to his fingers, and then she's gone, her voice and Rich's fading away as they say goodbye to Jeremy's dad downstairs.

The only thing he can hear is the sound of Michael's breathing.

"I feel like you keep getting sick ever since we started fake dating," Michael says into the silence, his thumb stroking over the bridge of Jeremy's nose, over his cheekbone. "Makes me feel like a bad luck charm."

Jeremy doesn't open his eyes. Doesn't say a word to correct Michael, to tell him that none of that's true.

"Makes me wonder if you're better off without me," Michael murmurs.

Jeremy should tell him.

He should open his eyes, should open his mouth, should say _let's end this charade, please, let's stop before we cross any more lines, before we reach the point where we can't be friends anymore_. 

But he's steeped in bone-deep exhaustion, whittled down by fever and pain, and he can't bear to make himself any more alone than he already feels. 

_Just a little more_ , he tells himself. He'll break up with Michael as soon as he's no longer fever-weak, feeling like he could fall apart any moment. _Let me keep him just a little longer_.

He's drowning in his selfishness and guilt, buried alive under his need and yearning and loneliness, and he's so weary from it all. The exhaustion drags him down deeper, the drowsiness claiming him, and he can barely hear Michael now.

"It's like last time. You said I was too far away." Michael's voice lulls him into slumber. "You have no idea, _mahal_."

-

When he wakes up the next morning, Jeremy discovers that Michael's left his hoodie behind for him to cuddle with, presumably because Jeremy wouldn't let go of his sleeve. And the hoodie seems to have worked its get-well magic; Jeremy’s fever has downgraded itself to 99.5 degrees, so he feels significantly less like he's about to melt into a pain-riddled puddle. He manages to keep his soup down, and he feels sturdy enough to venture downstairs and sit in the living room while his dad works in his home office, a fleece blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He spends the early afternoon catching up on all the messages and gossip he's missed out on, texting his friends to let them know he's not dying anymore. 

Michael's only sent him a few texts since Sunday, which is weird, but Jeremy barely checked his phone yesterday, so he can't complain. Michael lets him know that he's happy to hear that Jeremy's feeling better, but he can't come over today because he's pulling double-duty for yearbook in Jeremy's absence. He assures him that he doesn't mind Jeremy holding onto his hoodie in the meantime, waving off Jeremy's apology and reminding him that it's what best friends do for each other.

Best friends. 

There's something unsettling about the word choice there. The anxious, paranoid part of Jeremy lingers over the message, parsing the phrasing over and over until he realizes that there's a car pulling up at the driveway.

"Jeremy!" Brooke waves as she enters the living room, Chloe close behind. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than yesterday," Jeremy says, moving to stand, but she flaps her hands at him in a gesture to stay down as she drops beside him onto the couch to hug him. 

Chloe claps a hand to his shoulder, sizing him up in a quick once-over. "Good thing we came today, I guess."

"We would've came yesterday, but prom committee's getting so _busy_ ," Brooke says, apologetic. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Jeremy wraps the blanket around him a little tighter. "Seriously, I was pretty out of it yesterday. I didn't even talk."

Chloe takes a seat on the armchair to his left, tugging her tote bag open to pull out a binder and a notebook. "Well, we brought you notes and stuff from French. You still up for studying, or do you just wanna chill for now?"

Jeremy groans. "The exam's on Thursday, right?" Chloe and Brooke nod. "Ugh, I'll probably be back in school in time for that. Might as well get some studying done with you guys today."

"Okay, we'll make it quick," Chloe says.

Brooke perks up, grabbing for her own bag. "Oh, before I forget!" She rummages around for a minute, then pulls out a bright yellow USB and presents it to Jeremy with a smile. "Jenna said you'd need pictures for the promposal? I brought all the stuff I have of you and Michael."

The bottom of Jeremy's stomach turns over. "Oh, uh. Thanks."

"No problem!" She places the USB on the coffee table, then starts pulling out her own French notebook from her bag. "You can give the USB back to me whenever, okay?"

Jeremy spares a moment to think of how disappointed she'll be when she finds out he won’t be able to use anything she gave him, then quashes the thought, kicking it to the back of his mind. "Yeah, okay."

-

“I think you should stay home tomorrow,” Jeremy’s dad says at the dining table, watching Jeremy take tiny, half-hearted mouthfuls of his dinner. Jeremy’s appetite is still in a coma, and it doesn’t help that he’s been eating soup for two days straight. “I don’t think you’re up for school just yet.”

“I feel fine,” Jeremy says. It’s only half a lie. He’s physically fine, aside from the lingering traces of a mild fever and a headache. What really makes him want to throw up is the idea of facing Michael and finally ending this masquerade.

His dad looks unconvinced. “I’d rather have you take a day off then go to school and come back sick again. Take the vacation. That’s an order, private.”

Jeremy sighs, pretending to concede. “Okay, Dad.” 

“Good.” His dad nods in satisfaction. “I’m going up to Albany tomorrow, so it’ll be eight or nine o’clock by the time I get home. I’ll take the stew out of the freezer so it thaws out. You can reheat that. Do you want me to make some sandwiches for you?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll figure something out,” Jeremy says. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m always worried about you,” his dad says, and Jeremy feels his face go hot with the urge to cry. He must still be emotionally fragile from his fever. “I’d rather not be going to Albany when you’re not completely healthy.”

Jeremy clears his throat, blinking the blurriness away. “I’m gonna be fine. You should go to work. My fever’s almost gone anyway.”

His dad sighs. “Alright, but I’d feel better if you weren’t alone. Ask Michael if he can keep you company. I’ll leave cash for you both in case you want to order dinner.”

“Sure,” Jeremy says, even though he’s not ready to face Michael at all. “I’ll ask him.”

“And try not to get him sick,” his dad says.

It takes a minute for the meaning of that to sink in. 

_ “Dad!” _

-

Jeremy wakes up briefly around nine in the morning to let his dad take his temperature (98.8 degrees, a vast improvement) and say goodbye, then falls asleep again. He wakes a little before noon feeling refreshed and alive, the lingering aftereffects of his flu mostly gone. He reheats the stew that’s been defrosting on the kitchen counter and feels his appetite trickle back to life over the course of his lunch. 

After he’s washed the dishes, he takes a long, hot shower to scrub away the residue of sickness off his skin, sighing happily when he emerges from the bathroom squeaky clean. He hums his way back to his bedroom and pulls on a new pair of boxers, hesitating at the sight of the teeshirt Rich gave him still folded on his dresser, right beside Michael's hoodie. Good mood spoiled, he hides both the shirt and the hoodie in the back corner of his closet and pulls on his favorite NASA shirt instead. 

He curls up on his bed to check in on the group chat and see what everybody’s up to. Rich informs him that the new English sub is very hot and Brooke backs him up. Chloe sends him a picture of today’s lunch and tells him he’s lucky to not be there. Jakes asks Jeremy how he’s doing, promising to drop by since he doesn’t have any extracurriculars today. Christine reports that the principal’s brought his golden retriever to school, and includes fourteen photos as proof. Jeremy saves the best two photos just as Jenna bitches about how her group for her chemistry group project wants to meet after school for the third day in a row. Jeremy sends his condolences along with everybody else, and he snickers when Jenna resolves to finish the project today or to finish her group members’ lives.

Michael is oddly quiet on the chat, even when Jeremy says he’ll be back at school tomorrow. He doesn’t reply right away when Jeremy shakily sends a text reminding Michael to come over to pick up his hoodie, and something curdles in Jeremy’s stomach. Michael hasn’t been texting Jeremy regularly during his sickness, hasn’t been keeping their little ritual alive. His responses to Jeremy’s texts feel lukewarm, and he hadn’t visited Jeremy yesterday at all, even after his supposed yearbook duties. 

That was, if he even had yearbook duties.

Was Michael _avoiding_ Jeremy? 

This might be Jeremy’s anxiety getting ahead of him. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened. Michael had been sitting by his bedside just two days ago. Being apart for a day or two wasn’t significant in the large scheme of things.

But there’d been something off about Michael, when he’d came with Christine and Rich. Even before that, he’d been a little withdrawn on Sunday, ever since—well. Ever since the kiss.

Maybe that had been the tipping point, Jeremy realizes. Maybe Michael’s finally realized he can’t do this anymore.

Jeremy stares at his phone screen, his fingertips numb, his entire chest feeling empty and forlorn.

He’s shocked out of his stupor by a message from Michael, a short **yeah I’ll be there**. No dumb nicknames, no enthusiasm, nothing. Just the confirmation that everything ends today.

It’s fine. This is what they need to do. This isn’t the end of anything real, even if it feels like it is. 

Even if it feels like he’s losing Michael for real.

Jeremy drops his phone as his vision goes blurry, hot tears spilling over before he can stop himself, and he chokes on a sob, covering his mouth with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. He gasps, breath stuttering in then out of him as he fails to count the seconds between inhale and exhale, a muffled wail lurching out of him as he cries, tears dripping down his face and hands and chin. He curls into a ball, pulling his knees up to hide his face behind them, as if he can shield himself from his heart collapsing in on itself. As if he can hide from pain like this.

After what feels like hours but is apparently nine minutes, Jeremy’s not sure he has any tears left in him. Sniffling, he wobbles towards his desk, collapsing onto his wheelie chair and pulling some tissues from the tissue box next to his laptop. He stares at his desk with no clue what to do next until his eyes catch on a bright splash of color. 

It’s Brooke’s USB.

He mourns the loss of its purpose for a minute before he realizes that he might as well save its contents to his laptop. Call it a consolation prize. He could use some happy mementos, if he can stomach them.

He turns his laptop on and plugs the USB in, finding the folder labeled FOR JEREMY and clicking it open, expecting maybe a dozen pictures. 

What he finds is over fifty files. Jeremy feels his throat tighten at the photos. There’s him and Michael, standing in front of Jeremy’s locker, laughing together. There’s his hand entwined in Michael’s as they walk down the hallway. There’s one of Jeremy hugging Michael in the cafeteria. There’s so many of them.

“Shit,” Jeremy mutters, leaning back in his chair and pressing his palms to his eyes so he doesn’t start crying again. He takes a deep breath, counts to three before releasing it. After a few repetitions, he takes his hands off his face and straightens, looking at his laptop screen again. He decides to copy the entire folder and save it onto his laptop, somewhere deep in his documents, somewhere harder to find than his porn folder. He doesn’t want to look at the photos too closely right now.

As he waits for the folder to finish copying, he scrolls down the contents, marveling at how many pictures Brooke’s taken in such a short span of time. There’s certainly a lot of them.

Wait a minute.

-

“Jake,” Jeremy says into his phone, struggling one-handedly into his jeans, his voice breathless, “I need a favor.”

-

Jake’s Jeep pulls up in front of the curb, four blocks from Jeremy’s house because Jeremy wanted to save time and meet him in the middle, and Jake beckons him into the passenger seat with a bemused look at Jeremy’s disheveled state. 

“Okay, when you said it was an emergency, this wasn’t what I was expecting,” Jake says. “You sure you’re not sick?”

“Jake, please,” Jeremy begs, and Jake doesn’t ask any more questions, just steps on the accelerator. After Jeremy’s gotten some of his breath back, he says, “Thanks for this, by the way. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Jake laughs. “Nah, it’s not like sneaking out of study hall is hard. This is way more fun then studying for bio.”

Jeremy attempts to smile, but his entire body is shaking apart and he feels like he’s going to throw up, so he grimaces instead.

“Hey.” Jake’s eyes flicker to Jeremy before refocusing on the road. “It’s really not a big deal. I’m your friend. Whatever you need, I’ve got your back. Okay?”

Overwhelmed, Jeremy nods. Then blurts, “I’m in love with Michael.”

The car swerves a little. “You—huh, that is.” Jake contemplates the road ahead, then breaks into a wide grin. “Actually, that makes sense. That’s fucking rad, dude.”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy says, honest. “It’s pretty fucking terrible.”

“Ouch.”

It’s nearly three o’clock. School lets out in less then six minutes. The clock is ticking down. “Yeah, and I’m tired of waiting.” Jeremy says. It’s reckless. Impulsive. He knows, but he couldn’t stand the quiet of his own house, couldn’t stand the idea of not _knowing_ anymore. “I need to end this.”

Jake hums, slowing to a brief pause in front of a stop sign before turning left. After a silent moment, he says, “Listen, Jeremy. I don’t really know what’s going on between you two, but I know you care about Michael a lot, and I know Michael would probably hit a girl for you.” That surprises a huff of laughter out of Jeremy, and Jake smiles. “Whatever happens next, you guys are still gonna be friends. You two wouldn’t be able to settle for less.”

“I hope so,” Jeremy says.

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive, which is shortened by Jake ignoring the speed limit, and then they’re screeching into the school parking lot eight minutes later. 

“Okay, before you go,” Jake says, and grabs a comb from his glove compartment.

Minutes later, Jeremy tumbles from Jake’s car, hair tamed into something less of a mess, his face bright red, running towards the school as Jake yells, “Good luck!”

Jeremy stumbles through the school doors into the hallway, where students are swarming towards him, heading for the exit. He ignores the looks and stares as he rushes towards the west side by the auditorium, where Michael’s Spanish class is. He runs past Erica, past Carrie, past Gina Sanchez, and then he sees a familiar glimpse of a backpack adorned with RIENDS down the hall just before the owner turns his way. Sees the headphones and glasses and _Michael_ , and for a moment he freezes, terrified.

Next to Michael, Christine looks up and sees him. “Jeremy?”

Michael’s head jerks up, and then they’re locking eyes from across the hall, both unmoving.

There’s about two dozen students in the way, but one by one, people notice Jeremy, notice Michael, and they shuffle aside. Soon, the thin crowd has parted and there’s nothing between Michael and Jeremy at all.

“Michael,” Jeremy says, and it takes everything inside him to take a step forward.

Once he takes the first step, the second step is easier, then the third is just as easy, and soon he’s two feet from Michael, his heart in his throat, ready to finally end this charade once and for all.

“Michael,” Jeremy repeats, and he slowly sinks down to a bended knee. Michael makes a pained, choked sound, his gaze darting from Jeremy's eyes to Jeremy's knees to the red hoodie Jeremy's wearing. “Michael, I’m not pretending.”

He doesn’t know what exactly he should be saying, what he should be doing. He’s rushed out here with no concrete plan in his head except a two-minute Internet search on his phone and the desperate need to fucking _talk_ to Michael with no lies between them, so he’s running out of steam here, trying so hard to find the fragments of truth and piece it together into a coherent explanation, but words fail him. English fails him.

So he hopes like hell he’s not screwing this up and he says, “ _Mahal kita_.”

Michael makes a sound like he’s been gut-punched. “What?”

“ _Mahal kita_ ,” Jeremy repeats. There are so many things he needs to say, but now that he’s on his knees and looking into Michael’s eyes, he can’t say anything but the bare truth, unembellished, unexplained. Offer himself up and wait for the guillotine to fall.

Before the drop, he sees a glimmer of hope.

And then the guillotine falls in the shuttering of Michael’s eyes, in the single, halting step he takes backwards, in the turn of his back as Michael runs out of the hall through the nearest doorway.

“Jeremy,” Christine says, rushing towards him, her eyes wide and worried, tugging him upwards so that he can stand. Behind them, around them, he can hear the sounds of murmuring, the sounds of shock and curiosity, but he doesn’t care. He saw what he was looking for. “Oh god, Jeremy, he’s just, uh, surprised.” She fumbles with her words, like she’s aware of how flimsy they are, but desperate to explain Michael anyway. To protect him. “Just give him some time—”

“Christine,” Jeremy interrupts softly. He’s so glad she’s Michael’s friend. That she’s their friend. “It’s okay.” He squeezes her hand, promises himself to show his gratitude to her later. “I love him.”

She stares up at him, worry and bewilderment dawning into comprehension melting into wonder. “Oh, _oh_ , oh! You need to—”

“Go, yeah,” Jeremy says, and sprints after Michael.

He runs through the doorway into the section of the hall that runs behind the auditorium, which is empty. He’s unsure of where to go, but a wild hunch has him heading towards the backstage entrance at the end of the hallway.

He pushes the door open and walks inside, following his hunch through the backstage area and onto the stage, and he sees Michael doubled over in one of the first row seats, both hands clutching the headphones covering his ears. Jeremy feels his heart ache at the sight.

He jumps off the stage, careful not to touch Michael just yet as he kneels in front of him. “Michael?” He’s not hyperventilating, so it’s not a panic attack, but it doesn’t look good. He raises his voice, hoping Michael hasn’t cranked the volume too high. “Michael.”

Michael flinches, head jerking up, and something deep in Jeremy’s chest cracks at the anguished shine in Michael’s eyes and the miserable downwards curve of his mouth. He’d been so blinded by his own hurt and need, so content to receive Michael’s protection, that he hadn’t noticed that he was hurting Michael. That Michael needed to be protected, too.

Jeremy stretches both hands towards Michael’s headphones, waiting for a nod of permission before he gently tugs them down to Michael’s neck.

“I didn’t,” Jeremy begins, but Michael interrupts him.

“We need to break up.”

The words cut a lot deeper than Jeremy thought they would, even though he knew this would happen. He swallows the pain down and instead lifts his chin. Forces Michael’s hand. “Why?”

A wounded, awful sound tears itself from Michael’s throat, and Jeremy never wants to hear it again. “God, you have no fucking idea.”

“Try me,” Jeremy challenges.

“Because I can’t—I’m not—because I’m taking advantage of you,” Michael half-yells. "Because I'm in love with you for real and it's killing me to do this, okay?" 

Jeremy breathes. 

Inhale.  Exhale.

“I know.”

“You—what?” Michael blinks, his eyebrows drawing downwards in befuddlement, his pain momentarily shocked out of him.

“I didn’t know until today,” Jeremy says. “But I figured it out.”

-

_Wait a minute._

_There’s a video file at the bottom of the folder._

_Curious, Jeremy clicks it open, and he’s treated to a shaky view of what looks like—his back? Then the camera moves so that he can see it’s following him into the computer lab, and there’s Michael, and there’s Jeremy’s voice saying_ hey, mon chéri, _and Jeremy recognizes the video now._

_Michael’s wide-eyed double-take elicits a watery chuckle from Jeremy, his chest aching with how much he’s going to miss this. He listens to Michael’s shrill voice asking_ what did you just call me?

_“Did you just call me ‘honey’ in French?”_

_“Pretty much.” Jeremy’s voice wavers in confidence, turning to sheepishness. “I thought it would be a good revenge?”_

_Jeremy fondly watches the Michael on screen slap a hand over his face. “Oh boy.” He thinks Michael’s blushing, but it’s hard to tell. “Fine.” The hand comes away from Michael’s face to fix his glasses and yes, he looks like he’s blushing. “You started this,_ sinta ko _.”_

_“Wait, no, you were the one who was calling me stupid nicknames,” Jeremy’s voice protests from off-screen._

_“And you’re the one who decided to escalate,” Michael says._

_“No lovers’ quarrels in the lab,” Carrie’s voice rings out, and then the video cuts out._

_Jeremy restarts the video from the middle to see Michael’s blush again. He looks adorable, flustered like that. Almost like, well._

_No point in fantasizing._

_He does wonder what Michael said, though, so he pulls up Google Translate on his laptop and gives his best guess as to the spelling of whatever Michael said. S-i-n-t-a-c-o? Nope, not a word. Maybe it was slang. Or wait, maybe not a_ c _, but a_ k _._

_He types_ sintako _into the text box and an immediate suggestion pops up below, asking_ do you mean **sinta ko**? _Next to the box, in the English text box, the translation says_ my love _._

_Everything stops._

_It can’t be, Jeremy thinks. Michael doesn’t use words like that. Not when he can say ‘snookums' or ‘stud muffin’ or something ridiculous. Michael wouldn’t be calling Jeremy anything like this, especially not in a language that nobody else in their school would know._

_Except, Michael called him something else, before. He didn’t remember it until Michael had said it at his bedside, but._

_With his heart in his throat, Jeremy types m-a-h-a-l._

_The first definition that pops up is_ expensive _, which, what the fuck? But right below it is_ dear _, and as he goes down the list there’s_ beloved _and_ love _and_ darling _. Gravity goes funny as Jeremy looks at the pictures Brooke sent him, really_ looks _, and there’s Michael looking at Jeremy with a warmth and affection that shines like the sun. There’s Michael’s arm around Jeremy’s waist, Michael’s secret smile half-smothered against Jeremy’s shoulder as they hug._

_Jeremy unfolds the newspaper that’s been laying on a corner of his desk for a week and looks at the picture there, traces the words_ I want him to smile like that every day _with trembling fingertips, and recalls that afternoon in the stairwell, Michael looking at him with wonder in his eyes when Jeremy’d said_ I don’t know how I’ve gotten this lucky to have him _._

_He remembers later that same day, standing under the starlight on Jake’s porch, how Michael had looked at him. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Like he was in love with Jeremy._

_Maybe Jeremy’s crazy. Maybe he’s finally lost it, his ability to make sane judgments gone in the wake of heartbreak or whatever._

_Or maybe, just maybe, he’s finally seeing what was there all along._

_Out of all the ‘maybe’s, the one sure thing is that Jeremy’s going to go insane if he doesn’t find out right now. He needs to go to Michael. He needs to go to school._

_He dives for his phone, then tugs his closet door open to rummage for his jeans. In a moment of impulse, he grabs Michael's hoodie, too._

_“Jake,” Jeremy says into his phone, struggling one-handedly into his jeans, his voice breathless, “I need a favor.”_

-

“It took me a long time,” Jeremy says, taking both of Michael’s hands into his own, and the ache in his chest eases at the trembling of Michael’s hands. “I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out. But I love you too.”

Michael’s mouth falls open with a strangled sound. 

“So please be my boyfriend for real this time,” Jeremy says, and he realizes he’s crying, tears streaking down his cheeks, but he can’t stop smiling. “Call me those stupid nicknames and let me borrow your hoodie and don’t let another girl ever try anything with me again. Or don’t do any of it, if you don’t want to. Just,” his voice breaks, “just love me back.”

“You _moron_ ,” Michael gasps with a disbelieving laugh, and he’s crying, too. “You idiot, you. You fucking _miracle_ , of course I love you back, Jeremiah Heere. _Mahal din kita, gago_.”

Jeremy laughs, pulling a hand free to wipe at his face. “That last word wasn’t a nice one, was it.”

“How would you know; you don’t know anything about Tagalog.” 

“I know enough,” Jeremy says, “ _sinta ko_.”

Michael’s goes red so fast that it’s a miracle he doesn’t burst a blood vessel. “Je-sus, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he hisses, ducking his head down so that Jeremy can’t see his face.

“ _Mahal kita_ ,” Jeremy says, and he grins when Michael makes a pained noise.

“Oh god if you don’t stop saying that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Michael babbles, still facing his own lap, and Jeremy’s so in love that he could burst.

He leans closer so his lips brush against the shell of Michael’s ear and whispers, “ _Mahal kita_.”

Jeremy barely manages to avoid a collision as Michael’s head jerks up with a growl, and then two hands are grabbing his face. Michael’s face is right in front of his so that their noses touching. His lips brush against Jeremy’s as he says, “Repeat after me: _halikan mo ako_.”

“Um, halikan, mo a-ako?” Jeremy stutters, skin growing hotter every time his lips make contact with Michael’s in a tantalizing imitation of a kiss. 

He nearly whimpers at the way Michael’s eyes go dark at his words. “Again.”

“ _Halikan mo ako_ ,” Jeremy repeats.

“It means ‘kiss me,’” Michael says, inching closer, breath hot against Jeremy’s skin. “Tell me if you want me to.”

“ _Halikan mo ako_ ,” Jeremy says, meaning every word, and the whole world goes quiet as Michael closes the gap between them with a slow kiss. There’s just the two of them, Michael’s mouth pressing against his, Michael’s thumb sliding under Jeremy’s jaw as he tilts Jeremy’s head for a better angle. They break apart for only a second before they’re kissing again, Jeremy’s arms looping around Michael’s neck for better leverage. The hand not on Jeremy’s jaw slides to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair and tightening their grip, which pulls a low moan from Jeremy’s mouth.

A warm, wet tongue takes his open mouth as an invitation and delves inside, and Jeremy welcomes the intrusion, shuddering when Michael slides his tongue across the sensitive top of Jeremy’s mouth and whining when Michael withdraws a little to suck on Jeremy’s lower lip. 

“How are you so good at this,” Jeremy complains. “Who the hell have you been learning this from?”

Michael grins, and Jeremy’s heart gives a joyful lurch to see him so unabashedly happy again. “Didn’t learn it from anybody but the Internet, you doofus.” He ducks forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of Jeremy’s nose, which shouldn’t make Jeremy feel like his entire face is going to burn off. “But I might have learned it for you, kinda.” The tips of Michael’s ears are red. “Hoped so, at any rate.”

Jeremy has no adequate response to that, so he hugs Michael tight for a long moment. Eventually, he lets go to free his knees from purgatory and wobble upright into a standing position. Michael stands up to help, and they end up chest-to-chest, smiling at each other, Michael’s arms around Jeremy’s waist while Jeremy curls his fingers into the fabric of Michael’s sweater. 

They kiss for a few more breathless minutes until Jeremy realizes both of their phones are buzzing with cascades of text messages. With a reluctant sigh, Michael pulls away first to check his phone, then whistles lowly when he sees his screen.

“Oh boy, didn’t know Brooke could send the Look of Disappointment through text,” Michael says.

Jeremy winces. “Oh man." He pulls out his own phone to see what's happening, and he sees the chaos in the group chat and groans. "Uh, we'll tell them that everything's okay now and we'll give them details tomorrow?" 

"Good plan."

He texts the group exactly that, and everybody responds in record time. Brooke sends them a bunch of heart emojis. Chloe demands an explanation in class tomorrow. Rich asks if this was technically Jeremy's promposal. Jenna tells them not to worry, she's spinning the rumor mill to say that Michael merely got shy from the public stunt. Jake sends them a bunch of winky faces. Christine simply says **FINALLY**.

"So, how long has Christine known about, uh." Jeremy makes a vague gesture between him and Michael, unsure how to phrase his question. 

Thankfully, Michael understands immediately. "Oh, god, _so_ long. She asked me right after you guys broke up." Jeremy feels his heart give a twinge at that. He slips his fingers into Michael's hand and squeezes, mirroring the crooked smile Michael gives him. "It was nice to tell somebody, after all these years."

"Years?" Jeremy asks, heart skipping a beat.

Michael flushes. "Uh, since seventh grade?"

"Holy shit.”

"Told you, I had a crush on you for years," Michael says, and Jeremy feels like his chest is full of stars, bright and overwhelming, pulsing with light. He sways closer to Michael, overwhelmed with adoration. 

"I meant it," he says, a quiet confession against the corner of Michael's mouth. "When I said I don't know how I got so lucky to have you. I meant all of it."

Michael turns his head to capture his mouth for another kiss, a little more urgent than the previous ones. Deeper. His hands slide from Jeremy's waist to his ass, and Jeremy's gasping, pulling Michael closer, and then—

They jump apart at the sound of the auditorium doors opening.

Mr. Reyes blinks at them, looking confused. "What are you two doing here? There aren't any more after-school activities in here for the rest of the year."

"Uh, Mr. Reyes," Michael flounders, then sticks his hand in his jeans pocket and pulls out a keyring. "I just, um, remembered that I have to return the auditorium keys to you."

"You could have just dropped them off in my classroom," Mr. Reyes says, holding his hand out so that Michael can drop the keys into them.

Michael laughs, high and off-key, one hand gripping Jeremy's wrist as they both run for the exit. "Yeah, just wanted to see the auditorium one last time, you know how it is, BYE!"

They tumble out of the auditorium, faces bright red and breathless from running. "Oh my god," Jeremy wheezes, voice cracking on his words as he fights back hysterical laughter. "He's gonna think we were there to fool around." 

"What's he gonna do, ban us from the auditorium for the rest of the year?" Michael snarks. He pokes Jeremy in the side. "Hey, how did you get here? Please don't tell me you walked."

"Jake snuck out of study hall to pick me up," Jeremy says, catching Michael's hand to weave their fingers together. He leans in with a smile. "Drive me back? My dad's not gonna be home until after dinner."

Michael makes a noise in the back of his throat that makes Jeremy want to do things that they shouldn't be doing in a public area. "Fuck, yeah, let's get you home."

-

They make it to the living room.

"My bedroom is right upstairs," Jeremy says as Michael shoves him sideways onto the couch so that he's laying down. Not that's he's complaining. He feels his whole body go hot as Michael drops his backpack on the floor and crawls over Jeremy, both elbows caging Jeremy's head.

"Can't wait that long," Michael vetoes, dipping down to pepper kisses on Jeremy's temple, cheek, jaw. 

Jeremy squirms under the onslaught of kisses, breath hissing through his teeth when Michael starts to suck a mark onto the side of Jeremy's throat, just high enough that Jeremy's not going to be able to hide it unless he's wearing a turtleneck. He should tell Michael off for that, but the thought of everybody seeing it, everybody at school _knowing_ just who Jeremy belongs to, it makes him keen. Makes him go half-hard, desperate for more.

He tugs the hem of Michael's sweater up and slips both hands inside, mapping out the musculature of Michael's back, the curve of his spine, the dip of it right above his waistband. Michael hums in approval, kissing and licking his way back up to Jeremy's mouth. He wedges a knee between Jeremy's legs as he adjusts his position to coax Jeremy's tongue into his mouth more easily, and Jeremy rocks his hips against it with a whine when Michael sucks on his tongue. They both break away from each other to swear at the jolt of pleasure in the contact, Jeremy rolling his hips up again on instinct.

"God, you're beautiful," Michael says, watching the way Jeremy's eyes go half-lidded as Michael presses the full weight of his leg downwards against Jeremy's groin. Jeremy whimpers, bucking his hips up, his spine melting at Michael's low chuckle. "You're perfect."

Jeremy wouldn't mind rutting just like this until he comes, right here in Michael's arms under Michael's weight, but there's also that greedy hunger that wants _more_ waking up in the pit of his belly, uncurling through his blood. He wants Michael's hands all over him, wants his clever tongue on every inch of his skin. He wants everything that Michael is willing to give him.

He reaches up and tugs on Michael's sleeve. Begs, "Touch me."

Michael breathes out a shaky, "Okay," then pulls away to sit on his heels, trailing his hands over Jeremy's clothed chest as he goes. Jeremy tries not to whine at the loss of Michael's weight on top of him.

Michael pushes his hoodie and Jeremy's teeshirt up, baring Jeremy's stomach, and Jeremy's dick gives a twitch at the way Michael's eyes go dark and appreciative. 

"You look good in my clothes," Michael says, tracing the skin above Jeremy's hipbones with a finger, and Jeremy stifles a groan in his throat at the touch.

"I might've," Jeremy says, wondering why he's saying the words at all, "uh, used your hoodie to jerk off. Once."

Michael blinks, mouth dropping open then shutting with a click. He swallows, then says, "When?"

Jeremy already regrets saying anything. "Uh, day after Jake's party? Fuck, forget I said anything. I'm a creep, oh god, can we pretend I never said that?"

"No," Michael says, and there's a hungry edge to his grin that makes Jeremy want to offer himself up as a meal. "That's the fucking hottest thing I've ever heard." He runs his hands up Jeremy's thighs, contemplative. "I can't believe my hoodie's been getting more action than me," he teases. His hands take Jeremy's, pulling them to the button of Jeremy's jeans, a simmer of heat lurking in his eyes as he says, "Show me."

Jeremy's entire body goes hot. Hotter than when he had a 104 degree fever from the flu. "What?"

"Show me, gorgeous," Michael says.

Heart pounding in his chest, Jeremy moves his hands slowly, undoing the button of his jeans and pulling the zipper down. Michael helps him pull the jeans down to mid-thigh, devouring the sight of Jeremy hard in his underwear, and it's Michael's blatant lust that emboldens Jeremy enough to shove his boxers down for his dick to spring up.

"Fuck," Michael murmurs, chewing on his lower lip. 

Jeremy curls a loose fist around his cock and pulls upwards, breath punching out of him from how good it feels. The hot flush of embarrassment sparks into burning need under Michael’s gaze, like his blood is burning up inside him. Precome dribbles out of the tip, lubricating the way, and he strokes faster. His hips start to buck up as he feels himself inch closer to climax, and he has to bring up his free hand to bite his knuckles as the heat builds up.

“Come on, Jer,” Michael coaxes, and Jeremy shudders at the low, husky sound of his voice, whimpering into the bitten skin of his hand as he fucks harder into his fist. He’s barely aware of Michael’s fingers rubbing small circles into the skin of his thighs, too close to the edge to sense anything but the burn of his blood, the tightening of his groin, the weight of Michael’s eyes on him, watching him fall apart. “Come for me.”

Jeremy clenches his eyes shut and keens into the back of his hand as he comes, come splattering over his fist and stomach, the pleasure shattering through his nervous system as he strokes himself through orgasm until the aftershocks are mere tremors.

Gasping for breath, he looks up at Michael, who’s still sitting between Jeremy’s legs with a look of awe and hunger. 

“That was amazing,” Michael says, sounding breathless. “ _You’re_ amazing. Fuck, Jer, you’re so hot.” He crawls over Jeremy to press worshipful kisses all over his face and mouth. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

The English language slowly trickles back into Jeremy’s vocabulary. “What about you?” he asks, trying not to blush too hard at the praise Michael’s heaping on him.

“Me?” Michael grinds down on Jeremy’s hip, causing Jeremy to choke. “I’m really fucking turned on.”

Jeremy sneaks his clean hand downwards to rub over the bulge in Michael’s pants and is treated to Michael dropping his head into the crook of Jeremy’s neck with a garbled noise. Jeremy feels a little smug about that. “So,” Jeremy says, smirking up at the ceiling, “need a hand?”

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, hips bucking into Jeremy’s touch. “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep doing that.”

That sounds incredibly tempting, but Jeremy’s all too aware of what a pain it is to wash that kind of mess out of jeans, and he wants to actually get a look at Michael’s dick, so he withdraws his hand, enjoying Michael’s little whimper at that. “I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours.” He shoves at Michael’s shoulder. “I wanna see.”

Michael laughs, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Jeremy’s neck before sitting back at the far end of the couch. “Fine. Jeez, so bossy.”

“I’ll show you bossy,” Jeremy says distractedly. He’s preoccupied with grabbing a couple tissues from the coffee table to clean the mess off his hand and stomach, so he nearly misses the view of Michael unzipping his jeans and wriggling them down with his underwear just enough to pull his dick out. “Oh, fuck.”

The soft curve of Michael’s ass requires a detailed study at some point, but right now, Jeremy’s focus zeroes in on Michael’s cock. It juts up slightly to the left, looking about as long as Jeremy’s. It’s definitely thicker, though. Jeremy’s mouth might be watering a little. 

“What do you want?” Jeremy asks, crawling forward, one hand settling on Michael’s knee. 

Michael settles his back against the couch cushions, beckoning Jeremy closer. After a split-second of confusion, he realizes what Michael’s asking, and he takes a moment to shuck his jeans off and tuck himself back into his boxers before climbing over Michael, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. 

“Like this?” Jeremy asks, settling his weight onto Michael’s thighs, one hand hovering over Michael’s dick.

“Yeah,” Michael says. His hands flutter aimlessly for a second before they settle on Jeremy’s hips. “I’m not gonna last long.”

Jeremy worries his bottom lip between his teeth, checking if Michael’s okay with this before he finally wraps his hand around Michael’s dick. Michael heaves a shaky exhale at his touch, grip tightening around Jeremy’s hips, and Jeremy feels his own dick weakly throb in response. 

“This okay?” Jeremy asks. Michael nods.

It feels odd to be jerking a cock that isn’t his own, especially because it’s a brand new angle, but the mechanics are the same, and it’s just a matter of experimentation to see what makes Michael feel good. His eyes flutter shut when Jeremy adds more pressure when he strokes over the head, his breath hitches loudest when Jeremy strokes down to the base honey-slow, and his hands clench around Jeremy’s hips when Jeremy twists his wrist on the upwards pull. It’s addictive, seeing Michael’s breathing grow ragged, his eyes more unfocused as Jeremy finds the best exact method to make Michael unravel. 

“Jer, baby,” Michael starts to babble, “fuck, you’re so good. I’m gonna, fuck, Jeremy—”

Jeremy picks up his pace, pressing his forehead against Michael’s, stroking harder as Michael’s spasms under him, his words devolving into incoherent swearing as he finally comes all over Jeremy’s hand.

“Shit,” Michael gasps, twitching through aftershocks as Jeremy slows his hand. “Fuck, wow.”

Jeremy can’t help but grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, matching his grin. “C’mere.” He pulls Jeremy in and licks into his mouth, kissing him hard and deep until Jeremy has to pull away to breathe again.

“Ugh, I really need to wash my hand,” Jeremy grumbles, looking at the mess of semen sticking to his fingers.

“Lemme see,” Michael says, taking hold of Jeremy’s wrist, and then without warning, sucks Jeremy’s index finger into his mouth.

“What the fuck!” Jeremy squeaks, the wet heat of Michael’s mouth sending a jolt straight to his dick. 

Michael grins, pulling off his finger with a pop. “What, I’m just helping you clean up.” 

Then he takes Jeremy’s middle finger into his mouth, winking at Jeremy as he swirls his tongue around Jeremy’s finger in a lewd demonstration that renews Jeremy’s hard-on so fast that he’s dizzy with the lust surging through him.

Michael works his way through all five fingers before licking a broad strip up Jeremy’s palm, lapping at the remnants of his own come, and the filthiness of it has Jeremy’s dick fully hard by the end of it. He’s leaking a wet spot into his boxers by the time Michael’s done licking Jeremy’s hand clean, that sinful mouth stretching into a wicked, knowing smile as Jeremy’s whole body trembles with need.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Michael presses a kiss to the center of Jeremy’s palm. “You look like you need something.”

“Fuck you,” Jeremy says.

Michael hums. “Next time, babe.” He hooks a finger into the waistband of Jeremy’s boxers. “Need a hand?”

“I want your mouth,” Jeremy says in a moment of lust-spurred honesty. 

Michael grimaces. “Yeah, I’d love to suck you off, but we don’t have condoms. And I know we’re both virgins or whatever, but still,” he says, but Jeremy cuts him off by waving a foil packet in front of his face. “What the—when did you get that?”

“Jake,” Jeremy says, face growing hot at the memory of it. “After he drove me to school, he gave it to me.” Jake had given Jeremy’s hair a quick combing and then thrown him the packet with a wink. “Just in case, uh, things worked out well for us, I guess.”

“Oh my god,” Michael says, staring at the condom packet. “I can’t believe we owe our firstborn to Jake Dillinger.”

_ “What?”  _

Ignoring Jeremy, Michael snatches the foil packet out of Jeremy’s hand and tips Jeremy sideways onto the couch, turning him so that Jeremy’s sprawled facing the ceiling. It takes a moment for Jeremy to regain the breath that was knocked out of him, and by then Michael’s already settling between his legs, pulling Jeremy’s boxers off onto the floor with a determined look in his eyes. “Michael, wait, you don’t have to.”

Michael raises an eyebrow at him. “Duh, but I want to.” He turns his head to press a wet kiss to the inside of Jeremy’s knee, which, wow, he wasn’t aware that could be an erogenous zone. “You’ve done all the work so far. Consider it a reward.” 

“Oh my god,” Jeremy says weakly. “Right. Yeah, go for it.”

Michael grins, satisfied, and rips the packet open, rolling it carefully onto Jeremy’s cock while Jeremy bites his lip at the touch, the realization that Michael’s finally touching his dick going up his spine like lightning. After giving Jeremy an experimental stroke, Michael leans forward to take the head of his dick into his mouth.

“Shit,” Jeremy groans, hips bucking up, and Michael quickly presses a forearm across his hips to keep him down. “Sorry.”

Michael pulls off for a brief moment to say, “It’s okay,” then goes back to sucking Jeremy off.

The inside of Michael’s mouth is warm, almost hot, and his tongue is curious, lapping at Jeremy’s frenulum, licking down towards the base, taking him apart in ways he didn’t know existed. 

“Fuck,” Jeremy gasps when Michael sucks particularly hard around the head, his toes curling at the crackling pleasure shooting through his nervous system. Michael’s slowly figuring out how to rip breathless sounds out of him, starting by wrapping a hand around the base which he can’t take and cupping his balls in the other hand, then bobbing his head up and down, and Jeremy didn’t know he could make sounds like this. Wanton and filthy, wordless noises drenched in pleasure. 

He covers his mouth with a palm, but then Michael’s pulling off of him, voice raspy as he says, “I wanna hear you. Let me hear you.”

After a moment where it becomes clear that Michael’s not going to continue until Jeremy complies, Jeremy takes his hand off his mouth, opting to grip at one of the couch cushions instead. With a grunt of satisfaction, Michael takes Jeremy back into his mouth and hums, and Jeremy shrieks at the vibrations going straight up his spine, the hand not twisting at the couch’s upholstery shooting to grab Michael’s hair. Michael doesn’t seem to mind; he swallows Jeremy down as far as he can and hums around Jeremy’s dick again, forcing a high whine from Jeremy’s throat. 

“Michael, god, please,” Jeremy begs, with no idea what he’s begging for. His blood sings, electric with desire, and he’s so fucking close. “I need, ah, fuck!”

He loses coherency as Michael sucks him harder, reduced to whines and moans and cut-off noises hitching through his chest. His fingers twist through the curls on the top of Michael’s head, and then the hand that was massaging his balls moves back, a fingertip pressing against Jeremy’s perineum, and then Jeremy’s wailing, shaking apart as Michael sucks him through his orgasm.

It takes him a while to come back to himself, his nerves jittery from his second orgasm of the hour, and he’s trembling all over. His cheeks are wet, too, a few rogue tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. 

“Hey,” Michael says, rubbing a soothing hand back and forth over the bare skin of Jeremy’s stomach. He’s leaning over Jeremy with a look of faint concern. “You okay?”

Jeremy nods, words not quite back in his grasp yet.

Michael dips down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Okay, I’m just gonna throw this away.” He holds up the tied off condom. “I’ll be right back.”

After Michael disappears from view, the chill reminds Jeremy that he’s half-naked on the couch. He just had sex with Michael on the living room couch. He had sex with Michael, who’s now his real boyfriend.

He’s so mesmerized by the concept that he doesn’t notice the approaching footsteps until Michael peeks back into his vision. “Jer, have I actually managed to blow your brains out or are you just enjoying the afterglow?”

That brings Jeremy back to reality. “Well now you’ve ruined the afterglow,” he deadpans, wiping his eyes. He grabs onto Michael’s hand so he can be pulled upright, cringing as his naked ass makes full contact with the couch. He hurries to stand up. “Okay, ew, next time, we have sex in a bed. Not the couch.”

“Next time, huh?” Michael asks, smirking.

Jeremy flushes. “Well, yeah.” He pulls at the hem of the hoodie in an effort to make it less obvious that his dick is swinging out in the open. His boxers are a lost cause, so he’ll have to go upstairs and get new ones. “Let’s go to my bedroom.”

“Sure.” Neither of them move. “Uh, aren’t you gonna go?”

Jeremy blushes harder. “You go first.”

Michael looks at Jeremy’s face and looks down to his naked lower half, connecting the dots. “Okay, fine.” Michael, on the contrary, is fully dressed, having pulled up his underwear and pants while Jeremy was distracted. He grabs his backpack and starts heading up the stairs. “You know I’ve seen all of it now, right?”

“Shut up.” Jeremy collects his jeans and boxers and follows Michael, tugging the hoodie down over his front as he walks. Once they make it to his bedroom, Jeremy makes a beeline to his dresser, chucking his boxers into the hamper and dropping his jeans on the way, and pulls open a drawer for fresh underwear. He’s busy pulling on new boxers and recovering his modesty, so he doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing until he turns back around and sees Michael sitting at his desk, looking at his laptop screen. Where the folder on Brooke’s USB is still open. 

Oh.

“Uh, so Brooke gave me a bunch of pictures of us because, um.” Well, he figures that the cat’s out of the bag anyway. “I thought I’d do my promposal with a slideshow, you know. She was helping.”

Michael makes a soft noise, staring at the thumbnails of the files. He clicks one of them open, revealing a shot of Michael and Jeremy on a sofa. It’s from Jake’s party, Jeremy realizes. Jeremy’s slumped into Michael’s shoulder, half-asleep, and Michael has a protective arm around his shoulders and a soft, fond smile curling on his lips as he looks at Jeremy, the rest of the world forgotten.

“I was so obvious,” Michael muses, and there’s a tinge of bittersweetness there that Jeremy doesn’t like.

“Maybe you were,” Jeremy says. He steps beside Michael and leans down to click open a few other pictures he’d seen earlier. “But you weren’t the only one.”

On the screen, Jeremy’s eyes are full of laughter and warmth when he’s tugging Michael’s hand, urging him closer. There’s longing in the sad smile half-covered by his hand as leans into Michael’s side in the computer lab. There’s love in his furious blush, in the way his fingers curl around Michael’s wrists as Michael hugs him from behind in the cafeteria. It’s all there, unmissable once you know what you’re looking for.

Michael looks at those photos for a long time. “I thought you were being a great actor.” His voice is so quiet that it could break any second. “I thought it was wishful thinking.”

Jeremy turns the chair so Michael’s facing him. “I thought the same about you.” The chair is barely wide enough for them both, but he climbs onto it anyway, straddling Michael’s lap once more. But this time, his hands frame Michael’s face. “I guess we both put on a good show of pretending we didn’t mean it.” 

His chest aches with how much love he can see in Michael’s eyes right now. There’s something about the vulnerability of it that makes Jeremy want to cry, to promise to do everything he can to deserve this trust. To protect Michael for the rest of his life. 

“So fuck everybody else,” Jeremy says. Michael’s eyes widen. “Whatever they think, whatever they see, I don’t care. This isn’t a show for anyone. This is ours.” He knocks his forehead against Michael’s. “Just for us.”

Michael smiles, slow and bright as the sunrise. “Us against the world?”

“The two of us together,” Jeremy promises, the familiarity of it sweet on his tongue. He leans back and brushes an errant curl away from Michael’s forehead. “I love you,” he says, and it’s like coming home. “I love you, Michael Mell.” He means every word. “ _Mahal kita_.”

“Jer, babe,” Michael mumbles, nuzzling his nose against Jeremy’s. “We’re in your bedroom with your dad out of the house. If you keep saying that, I’m gonna take advantage.”

Laughter tumbles out of Jeremy’s mouth, happiness bubbling over. Jeremy wants to know how far Michael will go. How far he can be pushed. Just what he can be made to do if Jeremy just asked him. 

“ _Mahal kita_ ,” Jeremy says again, grinning.

Michael groans, tipping Jeremy’s head so he can speak into his mouth. “You menace. God, I fucking love you.”

Jeremy laughs harder at that, laughs into Michael’s mouth as they kiss, and soon Michael’s laughing, too. They sit there, entwined with each other, kissing and giggling, and Jeremy’s never felt more at home. Never felt safer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _gago_ is an insult along the lines of 'asshole/jerk'
> 
> short(?) epilogue will be posted soon.


	7. Epilogue

"I can't believe you guys blackmailed the school board into giving you the budget for this," Jeremy says, looking out at the vast sea of students mingling in the hotel’s ballroom. He’s in a fairly decent rental tux, just the right size with a near-imperceptible dark blue sheen to the fabric, and his hair’s been combed back to exacting neatness, but he still feels like he doesn’t belong here. He’s never been in a nice hotel like this before, let alone a real ballroom.

“It wasn’t blackmail,” Chloe says, taking a sip of her punch. “Just some efficiently applied persuasion.”

Rich holds a hand up so Chloe can’t see his face as he mouths an exaggerated _totally_ _blackmail_ towards everybody else. It doesn’t stop Chloe from leaning over to smack his shoulder. “Ow. I’m just saying that the school board cowers in fear at your name, girl!”

Laughing, Jake puts an arm around a pouting Rich so that they're leaning against each other. “Chloe Valentine, how do I begin to explain Chloe Valentine?”

Chloe’s eyes go wide just as Rich pipes up in falsetto, “Chloe Valentine is flawless.”

“Oh no you fucking didn’t,” Chloe starts.

“I hear her nails are insured for fifty grand,” Jenna says without even looking up from her phone. 

Grinning, Jeremy joins in. “I hear she does car commercials,” he pauses and then sings the next words for dramatic effect, “in _Japan_.”

“Her favorite movie is _The Breakfast Club_!” Brooke chimes in.

“Traitor,” Chloe mutters, but Jeremy sees the way her frown cracks into a smirk just as she raises her glass of punch to her mouth. Going by the way Brooke is giggling, she’s seen it, too.

“The bathrooms here are really nice,” Christine reports as she emerges from the crowd and slides back into their group, Tiffany following close behind. "But the line was way too long. What did we miss?"

“We’re explaining Chloe Valentine, _Mean Girls_ style,” Jake says as they adjust their huddle so the two girls can fit in comfortably. He points a finger gun at Christine. “One time she met Neil Patrick Harris on a plane!”

“Uhhh,” Christine says, and Jenna leans over to whisper the words in her ear. “Oh, and he told her she was pretty!”

“One time, she punched me in the face, “ Tiffany sing-songs, slinging an arm around Chloe’s shoulder. She’s intimidatingly tall today thanks to her three-inch heels, towering over the majority of their group. Including Chloe, who staggers under the weight with a scowl. “And it was awesome.”

“I will actually punch you,” Chloe threatens.

“Yeah, you would,” Tiffany says, smiling. She turns her head towards Jake. “Neil Patrick Harris?”

Jake nods. “Chloe really was on a plane with him two years ago.”

“Nothing happened,” Chloe says. 

“Of course nothing happened, Chlo. He’s _gay_ ,” Tiffany admonishes, and winces with a pained laugh when Chloe elbows her in the stomach. “Oof.”

“I meant that _no_ _interaction of any kind_ happened,” Chloe hisses in clarification. “I hate you so much.”

“You're the one who said yes when she asked you to prom,” Jenna reminds her, tilting her phone to take a photo of them. 

"I want a refund," Chloe grumbles. For all her harsh words, she doesn’t make a single move to escape from Tiffany's touch. Jeremy's got fifteen bucks riding on the two of them upgrading to official girlfriends before prom is over.

A flash goes off from Jeremy's left side, startling him and the rest of the group.

"A warning would've been nice," Jenna grumbles as Michael lowers his camera with a grin.

“Sorry, sorry! I wanted a natural shot.” He walks up to Jeremy's side and Jeremy automatically curls close, leaning sideways against Michael's chest as Michael tells Brooke, "I got some shots of people dancing, and Oliver's almost done taking photos of the seniors, so I think we're good now.”

Brooke hums. “So all that’s left is a photo of the Prom King and Queen.”

“Who do you think is gonna win this year?” Christine asks.

“Jake and Chloe, duh,” Rich says.

Chloe shakes her head. “I think Carrie’s gonna win this year.”

As everybody joins the debate over who’ll be crowned prom royalty, Jeremy silently raises an eyebrow at Michael and taps the camera's screen twice in a wordless request. Michael nods and trades the camera for Jeremy’s glass of punch so that Jeremy can use both hands to look through the pictures, wrapping his free arm around Jeremy's waist in a gesture that’s become as natural as breathing to them over the past month. 

“Ugh,” Jeremy says at the picture Michael just took. Everybody looks good in it except himself. His face is illuminated like his skin is made of reflective material. “I’m deleting this.”

“Aw, sugar lips, don’t,” Michael says. “I like it.”

Jeremy hesitates, then cancels the deletion attempt. He’d delete it in a heartbeat if it was just his face, but everybody else looks nice in the picture. It’s worth a bit of teasing to keep. “Fine, but this one isn’t going into the yearbook.”

“I know, babe.” Michael squeezes Jeremy’s hip before he turns his attention to something Jake just said, and Jeremy continues going through the pictures. They’re nice; Michael’s good at finding the best angles and lighting even in crowded, dimly lit venues full of people in motion. There’s a bunch of pictures featuring couples or groups posing for the camera, but there’s even more pictures of people milling about, laughing and twirling, unaware of the camera trained on them. It’s candid shots like these where people look happiest, and Jeremy’s always admired Michael’s ability to capture that honest joy in those fleeting moments. 

Several dozen photos later, there’s just photo after photo of their friends. Jake and Rich, posing in front of the ballroom entrance in their matching tuxedoes. Brooke, in a deep blue cocktail dress with her hair done up, laughing at something off-camera. Tiffany in her green mini dress that shows off her legs and Chloe in her purple floor-length gown, leaning close to each other as they confer in private, backs to the camera in an intimate moment. Christine showing off her white dress and sparkly shawl with a wink. Jenna resting on a chaise, the skirt of her dress spread across the seat and spilling to the floor like a maroon waterfall. 

There’s a lot of photos of Jeremy, too. Jeremy zoning out with his glass of punch. Jeremy’s jaw dropping at something Chloe just whispered into his ear. Jeremy and Christine posing for the camera as Rich photobombs them. Jeremy giving the camera a sheepish grin as he stands on his porch, right before Michael drove them to dinner. There’s a photo of the two of them as well, taken by Jeremy’s dad in front of Michael’s car. Jeremy looks, well, acceptable in it, but Michael is _unfairly_ handsome. Hair slicked back with a little more care than usual, black tux accentuating his shoulders and chest, lips tilted in a sly smile that Jeremy never tires of kissing. Looking at them together like this, Jeremy’s reminded all over again how fucking _lucky_ he is, to have Michael.

“You okay there?” Michael asks, pulling Jeremy out of his head. “You look a little,” he says, and makes a vague motion with the hand holding the punch glass in what Jeremy instinctively recognizes as shorthand for _overwhelmed_. 

“Yeah, just.” _I love you so fucking much_ , he thinks. His eyes catch on the glass, which is empty now. “Thirsty, I think.”

“Whoops,” Michael says. “Sorry?”

Jeremy shakes his head, shoving the camera at Michael and taking the glass back. “It’s good, I’ll get some more punch. You want any?” Michael shakes his head. “Okay, be right back.”

The drinks table is at the opposite end of the ballroom, so by the time Jeremy gets there, his appreciation for Michael isn’t threatening to burst out of him anymore, instead simmering at a pleasant hum of warm fondness. He ladles the punch into his glass from the punchbowl, humming to himself, and turns around to find himself face to face with Emma.

“Hello, Jeremy,” Emma says. She still manages to look intimidating in a bright turquoise dress. Maybe it’s the red lipstick. “You look dapper today.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy says, not quite meaning it. “You look…nice.”

Emma laughs. “No need to force yourself.” She leans past him to grab her own glass of punch with an offhanded, “Don’t worry. I’m graduating soon, and then you’ll never see me again.”

Jeremy’s not worried, exactly. He’s barely seen Emma at all during the past month, except for occasionally passing by her in the hallways. There’s no need for him to be wary of her anymore, especially when he’s secure in his relationship with Michael. He just finds Emma incomprehensible.

“Why did you do it?” Any of it, all of it.

Emma shrugs with a smirk. “Why do I do anything? For fun, obviously.” She pats him on the shoulder once and walks away. “Enjoy high school, Jeremy Heere.”

He watches her vanish into the crowd, noting the way most of the students hastily part ways for her to pass through. Like a tornado. A force of nature. There’s nothing to comprehend there, really.

“Huh.” Jeremy takes a sip of his punch, then puts Emma out of his head and goes back to rejoin his friends.

When he gets back, Oliver—Brooke’s date, a senior from their yearbook class—is there too, presumably finished with his own set of yearbook duties, so their huddle is bigger than usual.

“I thought you’d gotten lost,” Michael teases, welcoming Jeremy back with a quick peck to his mouth. 

Rich gives a dramatic gasp. “Oh no, Michael, you’re gonna get sick!”

“Fuck off, Rich,” Jeremy groans, burying his face into the crook of Michael’s shoulder to hide his mortified blush. “God, it’s been a month. Am I ever gonna live it down?”

“Never,” Jenna says. Jeremy can hear the evil grin in her voice.

The day after they’d first had sex, Michael had come down with the flu, and Jeremy’d gone to school on the bus with a huge hickey on his neck. Their friends have been making fun of them ever since. Even Jeremy’s dad had started shaking with repressed laughter as he valiantly aimed for a solemn _I told you not to get him sick_. 

“Remember to vaccinate before getting to third base,” Jake says.

“Aww, Michael, you’re blushing,” Brooke coos. “Are you sure you don’t have a fever?”

“I hate all of you,” Michael says.

Christine tuts at him. “Michael, is that any way to treat your friends who care about your welfare?”

“We're getting new friends," Jeremy says, turning his head so that his voice isn't muffled by Michael's tuxedo jacket. "You guys are all fired."

"Oh no," Chloe deadpans, "however will I feed my family now."

"I'm sure you'd do well in a life of crime," Tiffany says, then dodges the elbow Chloe jabs towards her midsection.

"Oh!" Christine perks up as a familiar upbeat song starts playing. "I wanna dance!"

Rich nods, enthusiastic, grabbing Jake's wrist and tugging him towards the dance floor. "Fuck yeah, let's go."

"Sure," Jake says. "Anybody else coming?"

Tiffany and Chloe both immediately raise their hands, and Jenna shrugs in a _sure, why not_ gesture. Brooke and Oliver confer briefly before Brooke says, "Sounds fun!" 

Jeremy drains the rest of his punch and gives a thumbs-up, which Michael copies. 

"Awesome!" Rich cheers, leading the way into the crowd as he drags Jake by the wrist. They all follow suit, winding through the throng of people towards the open space where the music is loudest.

The chorus booms out of the speakers just as they settle into a group huddle on the dance floor, and Christine pumps her fist into the air and lip syncs the lyrics. _I came here for love!_

Rich joins the lip syncing, grabbing Jake's jacket by the lapels and yanking him closer as he mouths, _for somebody to hold me down_. Jake stumbles a little in surprise, but he recovers quickly and curls both arms around Rich's waist, forcing Rich into a dip that almost has him falling flat onto his back. 

Laughing at Rich and Jake's antics, Tiffany grabs Chloe's hands, leading her into a twirl, and Chloe obliges with a sharp smile. The joy is infectious, pulsing through their bones with the beat, and Jeremy is breathless with laughter as he apologizes to Michael for stepping on his feet. 

The next song begins with a jaunty drumbeat Jeremy’s never heard, but Michael recognizes it, grinning when the guitar starts to play. He swings Jeremy in circles, mouthing _I’m seventeen, don’t hold your breath_ along to the song. They let Christine join the circle too, the three of them dancing until the song fades away, replaced by the unmistakable voice of Ed Sheeran. 

“Oh well.” Christine smiles, squeezing their hands before she lets them go. “You boys have fun!”

She turns and heads off the dance floor with Jenna, along with several other singles and the odd couple not interested in slow dancing. Jake and Rich are already swaying together, Jake winking in Jeremy’s direction when their eyes meet. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy can see Brooke accepting Oliver’s hand with a smile. 

Michael turns to him, still slightly out of breath from the previous song, sweat beaded on his temple. A stray lock of hair curls over his forehead, striking Jeremy with the urge to brush it away, to lean close and kiss the breath out of him. To take Michael and hide him away, so that nobody else can see the private smile dancing on his lips and the warm affection gleaming in his eyes as he offers a hand to Jeremy. 

“May I have this dance?” Michael asks.

Over the speakers, Ed Sheeran’s voice croons _‘cause we were just kids when we fell in love,_ and Jeremy’s heart is so full it could burst.

He takes Michael’s hand, entwining their fingers and placing his other hand on Michael’s shoulder. He can feel the weight of Michael’s arm circling his waist, pulling Jeremy closer so that they’re chest to chest, and Michael’s breath is warm against Jeremy’s mouth as he murmurs, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jeremy echoes. He’s not sure who’s leading, but they both sway to the slow rhythm of the song, the tips of their noses brushing. The rest of the world falls away, leaving just the two of them and the music.

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms—_

“This song’s got it right,” Michael whispers, and Jeremy doesn’t need to look at Michael to know he’s smiling. He can see it in Michael’s eyes. “You do look perfect tonight.”

Jeremy feels his face go hot. “Uh.” Compliments like these still catch him off-guard, no matter how many times Michael says them. “Not as much as you.”

Michael huffs a laugh, brushing a kiss across Jeremy’s cheekbone. “I’m going to teach you to accept a compliment someday.”

“Hypocritical, much?” Jeremy grumbles. He hugs Michael tighter so that he can bury his face into the side of Michael’s neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Over Michael’s shoulder, he sees Chloe closing her eyes as Tiffany whispers something into her ear, the corners of her mouth tilting up. The image tugs at something deep in his chest, makes him lean up to Michael’s ear and say, “You really look perfect, you know. It’s a little unfair.”

“I’d say it’s a fair trade,” Michael says.

Jeremy presses a kiss to Michael’s jaw, feeling emboldened by the wobble in Michael’s voice. “I’m the luckiest person in this room, to have you.”

Michael’s breath hitches. “Jer.”

“I love you so fucking much,” Jeremy sighs against Michael’s skin. “ _Sinta ko_.”

“ _Jer_ ,” Michael groans, pulling away enough for Jeremy to see the furious blush working its way up his cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me in public.”

Jeremy hums, pleased with the way Michael’s ears go red.

“Stop smiling like that,” Michael says, knocking his forehead against Jeremy’s. “It makes me wanna kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” Jeremy says, still smiling. 

Michael groans again. “God, you’re killing me.” He nuzzles his nose against Jeremy’s. “I love you,” he murmurs against Jeremy’s lips, a confession just for the two of them, right before he presses his mouth to Jeremy’s.

They kiss for a long moment, lips sliding against each other’s, the contact sparking a warmth that tingles across Jeremy’s skin, from his mouth down his spine all the way to his toes. When Michael pulls away, Jeremy tries to chase his mouth, pouting when Michael turns his face away.

“If we keep this up, the whole school is gonna get a hell of a show,” Michael says, his voice low and husky in that way that always makes Jeremy shiver. 

The implications of what Michael just said sends a hot flush of want through Jeremy’s blood. “Maybe I want you to,” he says, the words tumbling out of him, unbidden.

Michael’s eyes snap back to his, wide with surprise before they go dark with hunger. “You kinky fuck.” One corner of his mouth quirks up, lending an affectionate tone to his words. “I’m not having sex with you in public.” He leans close, brushing his mouth by the shell of Jeremy’s ear. “But my parents aren’t home til tomorrow afternoon.”

Jeremy’s entire body goes hot with _yes_. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” Michael asks, and he’s deliberately teasing Jeremy now, leaning back to raise an eyebrow and say, “We’re not gonna stay and support our friends at winning prom crowns?”

“Fuck it, Jake and Chloe will win next year anyway,” Jeremy says. Also, to wipe off the smirk on Michael’s face, he leans in close to whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”

The smirk drops immediately. “Jesus _Christ_ , okay, let’s get out of here.”

Jeremy knows they’re going to be in for some serious teasing later on, but he can’t bring himself to care as he and Michael wave hasty goodbyes at their friends as the song ends. Jake gives them a thumbs-up while Rich mouths _don’t get him sick!_ Chloe rolls her eyes and smirks at them, and Brooke winks a goodbye over Oliver’s shoulder. Christine and Jenna giggle and wave them out of the ballroom.

After they practically sprint their way through the parking lot to Michael’s PT Cruiser and climb into the front, Michael hauls Jeremy over by his lapels and kisses the breath out of him.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Michael says, his hands shaking as he shoves Jeremy away again to grab the steering wheel. “Fuck.”

Jeremy restrains himself from hauling Michael back for more kissing. Or maybe some rutting in the back seat. His whole body thrums with the need to have Michael’s bare skin against his, to swallow Michael’s moans and grind against him until they’re both shaking apart. His voice cracks a little as he says, “Shut up and drive.”

They barely talk on the drive to Michael’s house, Michael trying his best to challenge every speed limit in town without actually breaking any and Jeremy obsessing over what exactly is going to happen once they get to Michael’s bedroom.

This isn’t the first time they’ve had an entire night to keep a house to themselves, what with Michael’s parents having to go out of town for business on a weekly basis, and they’ve had plenty of sex in the past few weeks. They’ve explored each other’s bodies with the enthusiasm and persistence of all their horny teenage sex drives, and getting each other off has become a familiar, enjoyable dance for them. Jeremy loves having his hair pulled while he’s sucking Michael off, Michael loves to fingerfuck Jeremy into incoherency, and they both love to cuddle after sex.

The thing is, they haven’t ever really _fucked_. Not the way that Jeremy’s just asked for in the ballroom. They’ve been working their way up to it; there were already so many ways to make each other feel good, so they hadn’t felt the need to rush. Jeremy had brought it up, once, just to discuss logistics, and they’d both agreed that they weren’t picky about positions—they’d taken turns fingering each other to orgasms for an entire afternoon, and Jeremy’d been thrilled to watch Michael come undone as Jeremy pushed three fingers into him, had wondered what Michael would look like with Jeremy’s cock filling him up—but Jeremy’s had two wet dreams in the last week alone and woken up with sticky boxers and that insatiable emptiness inside of him, aching to be filled up, and he wants Michael _inside_ him, for fuck’s sake.

“You should tell your dad you’re staying over,” Michael reminds him as they pull up Michael’s driveway, and Jeremy pulls out his phone to shoot off a quick text before he opens the car door.

It feels like a small eternity to wait for Michael to unlock the front door. By the time they’re both inside Jeremy can’t help but shove Michael against the door to kiss him, running a hand through the curls at the back of Michael’s head and sighing in satisfaction when Michael licks into his mouth. Michael’s hands slide from Jeremy’s shoulder blades down his waist to his ass and haul him closer so that their hips are flush together, Jeremy’s hard-on rubbing up against an answering hardness that makes his mouth water. 

“You want me inside you?” Michael asks into Jeremy’s panting mouth. A fingertip traces the cleft of Jeremy’s ass, down, down, _down_. Presses inwards over the fabric of his pants, rubbing right over Jeremy’s hole, and Jeremy chokes on a whine. “In here?”

“Please,” Jeremy gasps, shuddering as Michael keeps rubbing right _there_. “Fuck me, I want you to, _Michael_.”

Michael kisses him again, a chaste peck on his lips, before he takes Jeremy by the hand and starts dragging him towards Michael’s bedroom. Jeremy’s knees wobble with the effort to not give out before he reaches the bed, his entire nervous system reduced to an exposed live wire. 

“C’mere,” Michael murmurs, seating Jeremy on the edge of the bed and leaning down to undo his bowtie, then the buttons of his shirt. 

Jeremy paws at Michael’s buttons, his finer sensorimotor abilities still overwhelmed by lust. “Can’t you just fuck me like this?” He asks, mouth running ahead of his brain. “You look hot like that.”

Michael fumbles with the fourth button on Jeremy’s shirt as he coughs. “Oh god, babe, you’re so hot like this, too. But we rented these, remember? We can’t ruin them.”

“Ugh,” Jeremy complains. He regains enough control over his fingers to start undoing Michael’s tie. “Fine.”

Michael makes short work of stripping Jeremy out of his layers, including his underwear and socks, then sends Jeremy to go rummage in the bedside drawer for condoms and lube while he gets the rest of his own clothes off.

Jeremy grabs a condom packet and the half-used bottle of lube, then kicks the covers off the bed. He hesitates, unsure of whether he should sit up against the headboard or stay seated on the middle of the bed. The sensation of being too exposed creeps in, dimming the anticipation and lust. For one uncertain moment, he wants to run away.

But then a warm hand is cupping his cheek, bringing him back out of his head, and Michael is looking at him with a mix of fondness and concern.

“You sure about this?” Michael asks, quiet. “We don’t have to.”

The warmth surges back into Jeremy’s chest, spilling over through his blood, and any hesitation he had melts away.

“I want to,” Jeremy says. He grabs Michael’s hand, the one that’s not holding Jeremy’s face, and pulls it to between his legs. He makes sure to pull his knees up, spreading them a little, so Michael can see. “I want _you_ ,” he says, guiding Michael’s hand to where he feels empty, clenching around nothing. “Here.”

“Fuck,” Michael groans, and places a knee on the mattress to lean close and kiss Jeremy.

Michael pushes him down onto the bed as they trade one open-mouthed kiss after another, and Jeremy barely realizes that Michael’s unscrewed the cap off the lube until a warm, slick finger is tracing over the entrance of his hole, begging for entry.

“Yes?” Michael asks.

“Yes,” Jeremy confirms, curling both arms around Michael’s neck to pull him down for more kissing.

The first finger always feels a little weird for the first twenty seconds or so, but it’s easy to be distracted by Michael’s mouth, by Michael’s other hand mapping its way down Jeremy’s chest. As Michael thrusts the finger in and out, the discomfort gives way to pleasure, awakening the hunger for more. Soon enough, Jeremy’s squirming under Michael’s mouth on his collarbone, pleading for a second finger, which Michael is happy to oblige.

Two fingers is when Jeremy usually starts losing coherency. He can string three words together at most at a time, and most of those words are Michael’s name and _please_ and _more_. The intensity of the pleasure increases tenfold when Michael strokes over his prostate, sending shockwaves of need through Jeremy’s nerves.

Now Michael’s pushing three fingers into him, taking care not to hit his prostate so that Jeremy doesn’t come yet, and Jeremy’s hips have started to move on their own accord, twisting downwards in an effort to force Michael’s fingers deeper. The wet, squelching sounds of Michael’s fingers stretching him open makes Jeremy’s skin flush hotter, like he’s about to catch on fire. Like he’s going to burn up.

“Michael,” Jeremy whines, then keens when Michael scrapes his teeth over a nipple. 

“One more,” Michael says. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Jeremy’s pretty sure he’s okay with Michael hurting him, but the ability to articulate that has been fucked out of him for now, so he saves that particular tidbit for a discussion later.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Michael says, pushing in a fourth finger, watching the way Jeremy throws his head back and whines. He dips down to suck another mark onto Jeremy’s skin. “You’re doing so well, Jer.”

After what feels like an eternity of pleasurable torment, Michael pulls his fingers out and Jeremy clenches down on nothing with a whimper.

“It’s okay, babe.” Michael shushes him, kissing his cheek as he rolls the condom on. He settles between Jeremy’s legs, pauses, then grabs a pillow to shove under Jeremy’s hips. “Tell me if it hurts, or if anything doesn’t feel right, okay?” 

Jeremy nods, pulse quickening at the sight of Michael slicking himself up. "Okay."

Michael's hands settles on Jeremy's hips, holding him steady as Michael pushes in slowly, and Jeremy moans, tensing at the blunt pressure. It doesn't hurt, not exactly, but Michael's cock is a lot bigger than his fingers, and Jeremy can't help but feel overwhelmed, his vision going blurry with wetness.

"Hey," Michael says, rubbing a thumb back and forth over Jeremy's hipbone. He's trying to soothe Jeremy, but there's a telltale tightness in his jaw that gives away just how badly his self-control is fraying. "Sweetheart, I need you to relax." 

Easier said that done. He's not too confident in his verbal abilities at the moment, so Jeremy glares up at Michael through tears, trying to convey that exact sentiment with his eyes. 

"I know, I know." Michael runs a soothing hand up and down Jeremy's side, coaxing his breathing slower. "But, fuck, you're so tight." Jeremy can hear the strain in his voice, can see the bead of sweat running down his throat, and heat coils in his belly, feeds the hunger inside him. He wants Michael's restraint in tatters, wants Michael in all his greedy entirety, wants Michael to fuck him so hard he can't walk straight for days. 

The desire turns his insides to liquid, helps the tension bleed out of him, and then Michael's bottoming out against him with a groan, and Jeremy shudders at how good it feels, to be filled up, to have Michael panting over him, gripping bruises into Jeremy's hips. He clenches subconsciously and Michael swears, his hips jerking forward, and Jeremy nearly sees stars. 

"Fuck, sorry, sorry," Michael apologizes, but Jeremy shuts him up by clenching around him again, deliberately this time. 

"Move," Jeremy demands, wrapping his legs around Michael's waist and urging him deeper. His dick dribbles another spurt of precome from where it's been leaking onto his stomach at the jolt of pleasure. “C’mon, fuck me."

Michael growls, swearing in a mix of English and Tagalog as his hands spasm around Jeremy's hips. "God, you little—“

He doesn't bother finishing his sentence, instead pulling out and then thrusting back inwards, punching the breath out of Jeremy's lungs. Jeremy twists the bedsheets in his fingers, gasping at the heat surging through his blood as Michael’s hips start to move in a steady rhythm, fucking into Jeremy again and again, each thrust slow and precise, like he’s testing the boundaries. The angle a little different each time, like he’s searching for—

“Fuck!” Jeremy’s voice jumps two octaves in a single syllable as scorching white-hot pleasure wracks his body, a seismic shock of sheer pleasure. 

Michael licks his lips, looking down at Jeremy with a self-satisfied, hungry grin. “Bingo.”

Then he repeats the movement at the same angle, hitting Jeremy’s prostate again, and Jeremy makes a filthy, terrible noise that he didn’t know he was capable of until now. His face could burn off; his entire body might as well be on fire. He’s melting from the inside-out as Michael fucks more indecent noises out of him, the pleasure overwhelming, and he’s barely aware of how close to the edge he is until he’s clenching hard around Michael and keening as he comes all over his stomach and chest. 

“Jer, fuck, I’m gonna,” Michael’s babbling, which means he’s close, too. He’s thrusting erratically, rhythm and precision lost in the wake of his impending orgasm. 

Jeremy’s fast approaching oversensitivity himself, but he manages to clench around Michael one more time to help him out, and he’s rewarded with the stutter of Michael’s hips, the catch in his breath, the drawn-out moan as he stills and comes while he’s deep inside Jeremy.

“Christ,” Michael finally says once he’s regained his breath. “I fucking love you.” He leans down, bracketing Jeremy with both arms, peppering kisses all over Jeremy’s face. “Was that okay?”

“Mhmm,” Jeremy replies, still too blissed out for his linguistic capabilities to function. He smiles into the kiss Michael delivers to his mouth, long and sweet with just a hint of tongue.

“You up for a shower?” Michael asks as he sits back up to survey the mess of semen on Jeremy’s skin. He pulls out of Jeremy slowly with care, quick to peel off and tie the condom, and Jeremy has to swallow a whine at the ensuing sensation of emptiness. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” Jeremy says, testing his muscles with a clench. He’s sore, definitely, but it’s not too bad. He tries sitting up and yep, very sore. Not enough to stop him from standing up, but he’s going to feel it when he walks. 

When he stands up, he wobbles a little.

“Oh god,” Michael says, a corner of his mouth ticking upwards. “Did I seriously fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight?”

“Fuck you,” Jeremy says. He feels weirdly pleased by this outcome, but Michael doesn’t need to know that. 

Michael wraps an arm around his waist to help him towards the bathroom. “Jer. Honey. You’re limping. It’s like that Ariana Grande song, where you got so much dick—”

“I will never have sex with you again if you finish that sentence,” Jeremy warns.

Michael shuts his mouth immediately, but he still smirks the entire way to the bathroom and through their quick shower.

After they both towel themselves dry and Michael fetches them boxers and tops for them to sleep in—Jeremy gets Michael’s hoodie while Michael pulls on the _My boyfriend is hotter than your boyfriend_ shirt from Rich—they curl up under the covers and snuggle for a while. Jeremy tangles his legs with Michael’s, enjoying the intimacy and warmth, humming under his breath as Michael plays with the curls of his hair. He loves these quiet moments, when they can enjoy touching each other, the urgency for sex on the back burner. 

Michael’s hand stills with a groan when he hears their phones buzz for the hundredth time. “Okay, you know what, I’m muting those fuckers.”

“Bring me mine,” Jeremy requests as Michael gets up to go fetch their phones, and Michael tosses Jeremy’s onto the covers as he returns, checking his notifications. Jeremy grabs his phone and unlocks it, only to find three-hundred notifications from the group chat and one text message from his dad confirming Jeremy’s sleepover at Michael’s. “Oh my god.”

“We’re not gonna be living this one down for a while,” Michael says, settling back under the covers. Jeremy scoots in to lay his head on Michael’s chest, dropping his now-silenced phone onto the bedside drawer. He’s not interested in reading all the sex jokes his friends have sent them right now. “Oh hey, Carrie won Prom Queen.”

“Nice,” Jeremy says. “King?”

“Jake.” Well, no surprise there.

Jeremy traces the lettering on Michael’s shirt. “Huh. I hope Chloe isn’t disappointed or anything.”

“Nah, I don’t think she cares.” Michael scrolls through the messages for another minute before he says, his voice full of laughter, “Oh shit. Yeah, she really doesn’t care.”

“Hmm?” Jeremy turns his head to look at Michael properly. 

“She just made it official with Tiffany,” Michael says, slanting a mischievous grin at Jeremy. “And prom ended twenty minutes ago.”

Jeremy blinks, processes the information, then groans. “Shit.”

“Let’s see, after prom ended but before midnight,” Michael says in a too-smug voice. “Looks like Brooke and I are splitting the winnings on this one.” 

“I hate you,” Jeremy says, mutinous.

“Love you too, baby,” Michael tells him, giving him a condescending pat on the shoulder. He laughs when Jeremy makes a disgruntled noise. “Hey, I told you that Chloe would at least hold out until prom was over. Should’ve listened to your boyfriend, munchkin.”

“Shut up,” Jeremy mutters, but his flicker of irritation melts away as Michael strokes his hair and massages his nape.

They lay like that for a while, Michael petting Jeremy’s head while Jeremy basks in the warmth of feeling loved. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Michael’s breathing, breathes in the scent of cinnamon and holds it in his chest for a long moment. 

“Hey,” Michael says, soft and gentle in the darkness. Jeremy opens his eyes to see Michael smiling at him, illuminated by the light from his phone screen. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jeremy says, his heart skipping a beat. No matter how many times they’ve said it, it stills feel like a small miracle every time. He finds himself mirroring Michael’s smile, the joy settling over him like a warm blanket.

“I love you so much,” Michael says, turning and caging Jeremy in his arms so he’s hovering over him. He looks at Jeremy like he’s the brightest star of his universe, with love and awe so bone-deep that Jeremy feels like he could glow. “ _Mahal kita_.” He dips down to kiss the tip of Jeremy’s nose. “ _Te amo_.”

Jeremy sometimes wonders if there’s a limit to how much love a heart can take. If it can collapse under the weight of so much open adoration. He thinks it’s the likeliest way for Michael Mell to ever break his heart. With too much love.

He thinks that wouldn't be a bad way for a heart to break.

“ _Mahal din kita_ ,” Jeremy says back. “ _Je t’aime_.”

Michael leans a little farther away. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“That,” Michael says, and takes a picture of Jeremy on his phone.

Jeremy squawks at the blinding flash, hitting Michael in the arm as he complains. “What the hell, Michael. We were having a moment.”

“Yeah, and I captured the moment,” Michael says. He holds up his phone for Jeremy to see. “I figured I’d show you.” 

Jeremy blinks, looking at the photo of him on the screen. It’s not the best photo of him—he’s glowing too much under the flash again—but he looks, well. Radiant. Not just because of the flash, but his smile is at his widest and most relaxed. He looks incandescently happy.

“Remember what I said? That you have a smile that could light up the entire state of New Jersey?” Michael leans in and nuzzles the side of Jeremy’s neck, trailing kisses up his jaw. “This is what I meant.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says.

“You’re doing it more often these days,” Michael says against his cheek. “Kinda hard to keep my hands to myself when you’re doing that.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to smile like this all the time?” Jeremy asks.

Michael huffs. “Yeah, I’ll just have to live with a permanent boner.”

“That’s tragic,” Jeremy says, mock-sympathetic. “Looks like I’ll have to help you out.”

“Mm, that’s right,” Michael says, pressing his weight down onto Jeremy, and Jeremy raises both eyebrows at the telltale bulge he can feel pressing into his hip. “Round two?”

“My ass is out of commission,” Jeremy deadpans, but his dick is definitely stirring in interest. He considers their other options. “Blowjobs?”

“Or,” Michael says with a coy smile, “I can bottom.”

Jeremy chokes on thin air. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I wanna ride you,” Michael says without an ounce of shame. He sits upright, his full weight pressing right down on Jeremy’s growing hard-on, and a moan catches halfway through Jeremy’s chest. “What about you. Wanna fuck me?” 

In a moment of heartfelt honesty, Jeremy says, "I want everything with you." 

He wants this. He wants next year, he wants another prom with Michael, wants college, a home, a future. He wants an entire lifetime with Michael, wants Michael to have everything Jeremy has to offer. 

The words tangle in his throat, too huge in their meaning to be conveyed in simple terms, but Michael understands him anyway, his eyes softening as he leans down to brush his lips against Jeremy’s. “You can have everything with me,” Michael promises. “Everything, anything. All of it.”

“God, I love you,” Jeremy says, framing Michael’s face with both hands. He kisses Michael once, twice. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you.”

“Well, you have me,” Michael says. He smirks. “And an all-access pass to my ass, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jeremy groans, laughing in spite of himself. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

As Jeremy pulls Michael in for another kiss, he feels like he's holding the center of the universe in his hands. Michael's wicked, delighted smile and the taste of his laughter, the solid weight of him in Jeremy's lap. A lifetime together, starting here in the dark in their shared laughter. It's the beginning of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -jeremy's inability to ever win a bet is a running gag  
> -christine's awareness of michael's feelings is hinted at from ch2
> 
> Special thanks to everybody who cheered me on through this marathon of a fic, with special mentions to Bird, Sunny, Mika, and Emma for giving me the push I needed most.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me to the very end!

**Author's Note:**

> writing tumblr: [divineprojectzero](http://divineprojectzero.tumblr.com)  
> main tumblr: [listentotheshityousay](http://listentotheshityousay.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [@listento_yousay](http://twitter.com/listento_yousay)


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